Chapter 24 – The Rendezvous

Alex crouched low behind some bushes, eyes darting back and forth towards the cliff side, towards the looming structure of Toluca Prison. It all made sense now, out of all the places, this twisted remnant of the Order had chosen one of Silent Hill's most notorious spots as their headquarters. The prison was an ideal fortress for them, with its maze-like corridors and heavy steel gates. And if Holloway was as methodical as his father said, it'd be tightly guarded.

He exhaled, steadying his nerves. This wasn't the first time he'd infiltrated hostile territory, he had done plenty of times back in the Middle East. But the stakes were different right now. He wasn't here for a mission or some faceless objective—his family's safety hung in the balance, Elle's safety and Joshua's safety, and the cult held all the cards. Alex couldn't risk tipping them off before he was ready.

Moving quickly, Alex slipped through more bushes, his heart pounding as he made his way toward the meeting point where he and his dad had agreed to regroup. A figure came into view, leaning casually against a rusted, abandoned vehicle near the tree line, but the tense look told Alex his dad was just as on edge as he was.

"Toluca Prison," Alex said as he approached, keeping his voice low so no one else could hear. "They've taken it over. It's crawling with them. The Order I mean."

Adam nodded. "Figures they'd pick a place like that. They'll have fortified it heavily. We're going to need to be smart about this."

"I was thinking the same thing," Alex replied. "Any way we can get our hands on more firepower?"

Adam looked as he considered their options. "Not easy. We lost our weapons in the lake, and getting anything out here without drawing attention would be a challenge. But I do have a few tricks left." He patted the small rucksack slung over his shoulder. "Found a stash of supplies a while back, ammo's low, but there's a pair of pistols and some flashbangs. Nothing fancy, but it'll get us inside if we're smart about it."

Alex let out a breath of relief. "Good. So what's the plan?"

"We'll need to create a diversion," Adam replied, his eyes narrowing as he studied the prison's outline. "Draw as many of them away from the main entrance as we can, then slip through a side entry. I could hit them from one angle, make them think there's a larger force coming in. You use that opening to get inside and find where they're keeping everyone. Especially Elle and your mom."

Alex nodded. It was dangerous and reckless, but it seemed like they didn't have any other choice. This was his chance to end the nightmare for good and get his family back.

"We'll need to move fast," Alex said, checking the gear. "You take care of the outside and I'll take the inside."

"Remember, Alex," Adam said, keeping his voice deadly serious. "They'll be expecting something. Watch your back, keep a low profile as much as you can, and don't let them catch you alone. These people are dangerous, and they won't hesitate."

"I know. I'll be careful."

Adam and Alex crouched low, hidden in the dense overgrowth as they watched the new arrivals arrive into Silent Hill. Through the fog, the shapes of dozens of cultists moved in grim silence. This was a larger group than either of them had anticipated, well-armed, many of them bearing fresh cuts and bruises like they'd come from some serious confrontation.

Adam muttered, "The Order must've called in reinforcements. Looks like Holloway's pulling every loyalist she can find to track us down."

Alex scanned the faces as best he could, hoping to recognize someone from Shepherd's Glen, but the newcomers were strangers to him. Hardened fighters, and undeterred by the streets of Silent Hill, they appeared far more capable than the usual recruits he'd faced before.

"Any idea where she found this crew?" Alex whispered.

"No clue," Adam replied. "But wherever they came from, Holloway's not playing around anymore. She's rallying everyone who'll answer her call. We need to be extra cautious. They'll have orders to patrol every inch of this place."

Alex nodded, feeling full of unease. Their chances of sneaking out of Silent Hill undetected were dwindling fast with these new forces swarming the town.

"So what's the new plan?" Alex asked. "We can't go in guns blazing."

Adam was already studying the terrain around them, weighing their options. "We wait for them to settle in for the night, then see if there's a weak point we can slip through. Maybe get close enough to hear if they're saying anything useful."

"Right," Alex replied. "This keeps getting more complicated."

Adam gave his son a reassuring nod. "Stay focused. This is what we trained for. We'll get through it, together."

They watched as the new group of cultists dispersed into the streets, disappearing one by one into buildings, alleyways, and makeshift posts. When the last of the footsteps faded, Adam gestured for Alex to follow him, and they slipped deeper into the shadows, ready to use whatever gaps they could find.

With their cultist robes donned Alex and Adam exchanged wary looks. The larger force of cultists moving into Silent Hill was unusual. Reinforcements? Alex thought back to what he'd overheard while pretending to be one of them, the cultists had been tense, muttering about some "mess" that had to be cleaned up.

"Stay low, and don't talk to anyone if you can help it," Adam murmured, adjusting the cultist's robe. "We slip in, gather what information we can, and get out before anyone gets wise."

Alex nodded. They fell in step with the cultists as they passed, blending into the crowd as if they belonged.

The roar of the motorcycle echoed as it rolled in, the rider's presence unmistakable, ominous even among the cultists. The figure wore a black skull mask that seemed to leer from beneath a helmet adorned with a bold red pentagram. The cultists parted instinctively, giving him wider space as he brought the bike to a slow, menacing stop.

Alex's stomach tightened. "I've got a bad feeling about that guy," he whispered to Adam. There was something in the way the man carried himself, something… off. He didn't move like the other cultists, and they looked at him differently, as if he was a mad dog just waiting to be unleashed.

Adam's face darkened. "Holloway must be desperate if she's calling him in."

"Who is he?" Alex asked, glancing over at his father.

"Just rumors. They call him the Enforcer," Adam said quietly, feeling tense. "The stories I've heard… this is the man she sends when she's tired of negotiating." He paused, watching the man on the bike. "He's not just another follower of hers, he's here to finish the job, no matter the cost."

As the Enforcer scanned the crowd, his gaze passed over Alex and Adam, they both instinctively lowered their heads, shifting further back into the shadowy cover of their hoods. It lingered longer than either of the two would have liked.

Alex watched as the new arrival, continued on his way on the motorcycle. The skull mask is a sinister touch, but it's the painted crimson pentagram that gives Alex chills. The man's presence shifted the air. Whoever this guy is, he's no ordinary cultist.

Adam's expression hardens as he observes the figure silently. Without a word to Alex, he gestures for them to fall back deeper into the cover of the shadows, gripping Alex's shoulder as they begin moving. They'd have to be even more careful now, with someone like that around.

Wheeler glared up at Holloway, his face still bruised, and his chest still bandaged up. Every breath hurt, but he was not about to give her the satisfaction of seeing him break down.

Holloway, stood with her hands clasped behind her back, offering a smile, more mockery than kindness. "Quite the fighter, aren't you, Deputy Wheeler?" She tilted her head. "Not many men can take a knife wound like that and keep pushing. Impressive."

Wheeler grimaced, refusing to look away from the Judge. "You're not getting anything out of me, you know that, right?"

Her smile widened, and she let out a small, humorless laugh. "Oh, Deputy, I think you misunderstand me. I don't need information. I already know where your friends are heading… and they're not nearly as clever as they think."

Wheeler's jaw tightened, and Holloway took a step closer, lowering her voice to a near whisper. "The only reason you're still breathing, Deputy, is because I believe you still have a role to play with us. You may be of use… to draw them out."

She straightened up, glancing at the monitor, where the security feed displays flickering images of the cells. Each captive is shown in their separate cell, heads down, worn down by their imprisonment. She lets Wheeler see the screen for a moment before turning back. "You see if you don't cooperate, I'll move on to others who might be more… willing."

Holloway lets her offer linger in the air, as she paced around the room. "But you know, Deputy, Shepherd's Glen will need a new sheriff when all this is over. How does Sheriff Wheeler sound to you?"

Wheeler twisted in disgust, his response immediate. He spits at her, defiantly. "I wouldn't betray Adam for anyone. Least of all, for you."

Holloway only chuckled again, her smile sharp as she wiped the spit off her heels with a handkerchief. "Loyalty. It's almost admirable, in a way. But loyalty without reason?" She shook her head, feigning a sympathetic sigh. "Deputy that was your last chance. But don't worry," She leaned in one last time, her voice calm. "You'll find my friend far less forgiving than I am. But he's on his way now, and he will get what we need from you… one way or another."

With that, she turns on her heel, leaving Wheeler alone in the cell, the cold echo of her footsteps lingering long after she's gone.

The Enforcer roared up to Toluca Prison, his motorcycle skidding to a halt just inches away from two cultists who barely dove out of his path in time. He doesn't even give so much as a glance their way, his attention fixed on the building in front of him. The cultists scowled, muttering under their breath, but a sharp, dismissive "Boo" from him shut them up real fast. One even stumbles back, caught off guard by the mere sound, his eyes wide with fear.

The Enforcer stared them down for a moment, his skull-painted mask as expressionless as stone, then strides past without a second look. He had nothing but contempt for their theatrics, their masks, and the robes. They played at darkness and ritual, chanting in shadows, trying to embody mystical power. But to him, they were just zealots playing dress-up. He respected Holloway's pull over them, her influence, that was real power. But the rest? He barely cared if they were swept out of his path.

Once inside, he hardly broke his stride, taking in the gloom of Toluca Prison. The guards and cultists stationed there straighten up, faces tense and wary, exchanging nervous glances as he makes his way down the dim corridors. The Enforcer didn't need introductions or pleasantries. Holloway's word alone had built his reputation, and here, at Toluca Prison, he wasn't about to lower himself to speak more than necessary.

He made his way toward Holloway's office, his presence alone sent silent ripples through the air.

As Holloway steps into the dimly lit corridor of Toluca Prison, she's greeted by the sharp scent of smoke. The Enforcer leaned against the wall, a cigarillo between his fingers, glowing red in the shadows. She wrinkles her nose.

"You know that's a disgusting habit," she remarked, eyeing the smoke drifting from his hand.

He raised an eyebrow, taking a long, deliberate puff. "I find it keeps out the cold," he replied, his voice low, with a hint of amusement. The glow from the cigarillo briefly illuminates the painted skull of his mask, making his expression all the more unsettling.

Holloway crosses her arms, studying him with her brand of intensity. "Cold won't be an issue much longer. Our work is… accelerating."

The Enforcer only exhales a stream of smoke, watching her impassively. "Then let's get to it." His voice had a tone that suggested he was always ready.

The Enforcer listened silently as Holloway laid out the details in her office, his mask now firmly back in place, transforming him back into the skull-faced menace feared by the Order and its enemies. Curtis stands nearby, shuffling uneasily, his gaze flickering between the map spread across the table and the Enforcer's unreadable mask. A few other cultists glance at each other nervously.

Holloway's tone is all business. "Adam Shepherd," she begins, her finger tapping on a marked area of the map, "former Green Beret and Airborne. Highly trained, and resourceful, and he knows Shepherd's Glen better than any of us. His son, Alex, an Army Ranger. A more than capable fighter and... Resilient. He was meant to be one of our traditional sacrifices." Her voice tightened, though she quickly regained her composure. "But they've both slipped through our hands."

She pauses, meeting the Enforcer's gaze through the hollow sockets of his mask. "They've managed to rally allies. Among them, two we've already captured, amongst Adam's accomplices in his little insurrection, his brother-in-law, James Sunderland, and Deputy Wheeler. Both were... difficult to subdue." Her eyes narrow, as a flash of irritation crosses her face at the memory of their resistance. "Wheeler," she continues, "is stubborn but vulnerable to pressure. James… well, let's just say we have a means to make him compliant."

At this, she gestures toward another spot on the map. "A woman named Angela Orosco. An old friend of Sunderland's, and a vital part to break his spirit. We brought her here as insurance."

"If the girl is important to that Mr. Sunderland. We'll interrogate them together." The Enforcer said, not glancing back up from the map.

Curtis grumbles, "All this because Shepherd had to turn the town upside down. They're making us look-"

"Curtis," Holloway cuts him off sharply, "you'll save the complaints for after the job is done." She looks back to the Enforcer, her eyes calculating. "Adam is resourceful but desperate. He knows he's outgunned and outnumbered. That desperation may be his downfall, but we need to end this. Quickly."

The Enforcer leans over the table, his gloved finger tracing an alternate route along the map. "Then let's remind him who's in control. It's only fair to give them something to fear."

Holloway nods, a small, approving smile playing on her lips.

The Enforcer takes in the information with a slow inhale of his cigarillo, scanning the layout of the town and the prison on the map. His voice, a low rasp beneath the mask, breaks the tension in the room. "Half the work's already done for me," he mutters. "The people of Shepherd's Glen have been sufficiently… educated in the consequences of defiance. They're too terrified to rally behind Adam now."

He looks up, his gaze briefly flicking to Curtis, who shifts uncomfortably under his scrutiny. "We've got leverage, too," he adds, gesturing toward the map where the captured accomplices are marked. "People Adam cares about. If he thought he could rally support, he won't be getting it now. Not without paying a high price."

Holloway's mouth curves in a smile as she meets his gaze. "Indeed. But there's still one loose end we're waiting on," she says, her tone growing sharper as her gaze slides to Curtis. "Lillian Shepherd. I expect her to be in our custody soon, Curtis."

Curtis scratches the back of his neck, looking a little flustered but quickly nodding. "I've got people working on it. She'll be here," he says, trying to regain his confidence.

The Enforcer watches this exchange without a word, but his posture suggests a kind of impatience. Holloway senses it and redirects her attention to him. "Once Lillian's in custody, we'll have all the pieces in place to draw Adam and Alex exactly where we want them. In the meantime," she says, "I want you to do what you do best, Enforcer. Remind Shepherd's Glen why the Order isn't to be crossed."

The Enforcer tilts his head, his eyes fixed on Holloway through the skull mask, then nods. "Consider it done," he says.

Holloway watched him with satisfaction in her eyes. She knew that, despite his unpredictability, the Enforcer was the only one who could bring Adam Shepherd's insurrection to a brutal, and definitive end.

"The three prisoners in our custody are my gift to you," she continues. "In honor of our partnership. Don't kill them yet, but make sure they suffer. I want their spirits broken, their will shattered, ready for Adam and Alex to see exactly what they're up against."

The Enforcer nods slowly, a low chuckle escaping him as he considers her offer. "Generous," he replies. "I'll make it memorable for them."

Holloway's eyes narrow with satisfaction. There was no one better suited for the task than the Enforcer, her chosen instrument of terror and punishment. He would not only leave the prisoners a broken shell of themselves but leave a message etched into the minds of anyone daring to defy her Order.

Holloway fixes Curtis with an icy glare, her voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. "My daughter, Elle, is off-limits," she says, each word as sharp as a knife. "She is not to be harmed, Curtis. Disobey me on this, and..." She lets the silence between them do the rest.

Curtis shifted slightly, eyes flickering away from hers, swallowing whatever retort he might have had. He knows better than to push. Then he gives her a reluctant nod, muttering something like "Understood, Judge," before glancing over at the Enforcer. There's tension in his expression, a flicker of unease he doesn't bother to hide.

The Enforcer catches the look, amused but indifferent, letting his gaze drift back to Holloway. He's already scanning through his options for handling the prisoners. Torture, he knows, is an art in patience, and in leaving marks that last longer than the pain itself.

"Consider it done," he says again, his voice is calm and unwavering. "I'll make sure they understand exactly who's in charge here." His gaze shifts back to the map, studying it with the detached professionalism of a man who's always two steps ahead, already plotting his next move.

Holloway watches him with a slight, satisfied smile, though she's careful not to let it linger. With everything in motion, she turns her attention back to Curtis. "And you'll be coordinating with him, Curtis. I want a united front on this. No mistakes."

Curtis nods, though he doesn't meet her gaze, keeping his focus on the map as well.

The Enforcer straightens, a smirk forming beneath the skull mask. "I'll get started then," he says, rolling his shoulders like a fighter warming up. "I'll give the cop and Mr. Sunderland a bit of... exercise. It'll be good for them."

Holloway arched an eyebrow, but there was a glint of approval in her eyes. "Go on, then. Make it memorable. Just don't forget I want them alive, broken, but still breathing."

Curtis shifts uncomfortably but says nothing, avoiding the Enforcer's gaze. He's seen what the Enforcer considers "exercise" before, and he knows it'll be anything but routine.

The Enforcer simply nods. "Alive. I hear you, Judge." With that, he pulls the door open and steps out, ready to make his way down to the cells.

Holloway watches him go, folding her hands together. She knows her prisoners won't be the same after he's finished with them. But that's precisely the point.

Outside, in the prison yard, Curtis lets out a long breath, adjusting his collar as he steps into the cold night air. He spots a few of the cultists waiting for him, their postures tense as they watch him approach. One of them, a man with a shaved head and wary eyes, steps forward to talk to him.

"Holloway talks to that outsider like they're old friends," the man says under his breath, glancing back at the building where the Enforcer disappeared. "I don't like this and I don't like him."

Curtis gives him a hard look, making sure the other cultists hear the edge in his voice. "You don't have to like it," he retorts sharply. "None of us do."

He lowers his voice, leaning in slightly. "The Enforcer's here because Holloway wants him here. Whatever she's got planned, he's a part of it, and we're not the ones who get to make that call."

The cultist shifts uneasily, glancing at the others, who are nodding in silent agreement. "Just seems like she's trusting him more than she's trusting us these days."

Curtis scowls, then sighs, trying to keep his composure. "Look, the Enforcer's good at what he does, and Holloway knows it. But make no mistake, he's not one of us. When she's done with him, he'll be gone. That's the only thing you need to know."

The group murmurs an agreement, but Curtis can see the distrust still simmering in their eyes.

One of the cultists, a smaller man with a scarred lip, mutters under his breath, "Maybe the Enforcer needs a little… accident. Can't see Holloway keeping him around if he's out of commission."

Another cultist, broader and with a rough laugh, shakes his head and slaps the man's back. "You saw what he did to those Dagonites. They tried everything, and they're gone now. You think you'll have better luck than a whole cult?"

Curtis's eyes narrow as he looks over the group, silencing them with a cold, hard stare. "Enough," he says. "Keep talking like that, and you'll be the ones with an accident. Do you think Holloway wouldn't notice if someone tried to take him out? She's smarter than that, and so is he."

The cultists glance at each other.

Curtis lets his tone soften, just enough to keep them on his side. "Look, we all know we'd be better off if the Enforcer went back to whatever part of hell he came from. But we've got to play this smart. Holloway isn't going to keep him around forever. Until then, stay in line and keep your eyes open."

The cultists nod back reluctantly, but Curtis can still see the wariness in their expressions. It wasn't just fear anymore, it was growing resentment, a feeling that wouldn't stay buried for long.

"Stand down, all of you," Curtis orders. "The Enforcer isn't someone you just cross on a whim. Holloway might turn a blind eye if he takes one of you out for 'disciplinary reasons.' So, don't do anything rash. Not yet."

The cultists shift uneasily, some glancing at each other as if expecting one of them to defy the order. But no one speaks. They all know Curtis's reputation and that there's a reason he's Holloway's right-hand man, even if he's just as unhappy about the Enforcer's presence as they are.

"If we're going to make a move," Curtis continues, lowering his voice so even the Enforcer couldn't hear them. "We wait. Watch how things play out. Let him do his job, make his enemies, and when the time's right…" Curtis lets the sentence trail off.

One of the cultists, eyes darting to the prison building, finally nods. "Guess we'll bide our time, then."

Curtis gives a nod. "Good. Now get to your posts. The Shepherds aren't going to hand themselves over, and if any of you draw attention to us with some reckless stunt, the Enforcer won't be the only problem you'll have."

As the cultists scatter, Curtis takes a moment to light up a cigarette, watching the windows of the prison. The Enforcer might have the upper hand for now, but Curtis was no fool either. Sooner or later, that outsider's leash would tighten, and when it did, Curtis planned to be ready.

James Sunderland lay on the cold floor of his cell, staring up at the cracked ceiling. Guilt tugged at him, especially when he thought about Angela. She'd been through enough, been through a hell of her own without being dragged into his mess, without being used as leverage against him. The thought of her suffering for his mistakes burned inside him, guilt tinged with a helpless rage.

He shifted uncomfortably, wincing at the bruises and cuts from his last encounter with the Order. He'd seen Wheeler put up a fight before he was taken down, probably lying in some other cell right now, still defiant, still loyal to Adam and Alex. And then there was Adam himself, the one who had somehow gathered enough strength to stand against these monsters. He was wondering where Adam and Alex were right now, if they were still out there, fighting, planning some sort of escape or rescue, clinging onto hope.

With a sigh, he closes his eyes, picturing them, his brother-in-law with that stubborn determination in his eyes, and Alex, his young nephew thrown into this twisted legacy of blood and sacrifice. They're out there somewhere, he has to believe that. He has to believe they're not giving up, even if he feels himself lingering at the edges.

As the sound of footsteps echoes down the corridor, James tenses. The flickering lights outside his cell cast shadows, and for a moment, he thinks he hears something, Angela's voice, maybe, or Alex calling out. But there's nothing, only the quiet tap of boots approaching.

The loud, sharp bangs force James out of his thoughts, each echo bouncing off the stone walls. Blinking, he raises his head and finds himself staring at the figure standing beyond the bars, a hulking man, clad in combat gear that's clearly seen its share of violence. His face is obscured behind a grinning skull mask painted white. A helmet with a red pentagram scrawled across it sits atop his head, completing the disturbing image.

James stares, uncertain if he's even looking at a man or some kind of nightmare. This wasn't like the other cultists he'd seen. Their faces might have been masked or hidden, but they still looked human and still resembled people.

This...thing in front of him was something else entirely.

"Up!" The man's voice is a rough bark. There's no patience in it, no pretense of anything beyond a demand, and James feels a chill run through him. Slowly, he rises, never taking his eyes off the Enforcer, feeling his heartbeat hammering in his ears. The silence between them feels heavy, but there's no mistaking the power and brutality radiating off the masked figure.

The Enforcer tilts his head slightly, as if sizing James up, like a predator assessing prey. "Time for exercise, Sunderland," he growls, the skull's grim smile fixed in place.

James squinted in the light of the prison yard as he was led out, his hands tensed around the cold metal pipe that the Enforcer tossed his way. Wheeler is already standing in the area, his expression a mix of defiance and caution. It's clear too that Wheeler doesn't want to give this man any satisfaction and neither does James.

The Enforcer stands a few feet away, arms folded, his skull mask somehow seeming to grin wider under the night sky. "Breathe it in, boys. Fresh air," he says, his tone mocking, like he's rewarding them instead of leading them into a setup. "Good to get a little exercise."

Wheeler looks down at the pipe, then back up at the Enforcer. "Why should we?" he asks, his voice steady despite the tension in his stance.

The Enforcer tilts his head, tapping his fingers against his helmet. "Oh, I don't know, Deputy. Maybe you need a little encouragement. You've got family down in Atlanta, don't you? A niece, a nephew?" His voice takes on a cold, menacing edge. "Kids are full of energy. Maybe they'd be up for this kind of exercise."

Wheeler's jaw tightens, his grip shifting on the pipe, but he doesn't make a move.

The Enforcer shifts his attention to James, tilting his head. "And you, Mr. Sunderland. Maybe a friend of yours would have a little more… motivation." He pauses, letting the words sink in, his voice deliberately cruel. "That girlfriend of yours, Orosco, think she'd like to know you put up a fight?"

James felt the taunt sink in, stirring both guilt and anger. Angela was dragged into this because of him because he couldn't leave well enough alone. The Enforcer's eyes seem to gleam behind that mask, feeding on their hesitation.

"Well?" the Enforcer sneers. "I haven't all day."

Reluctantly, Wheeler and James each grip the cold metal pipes, their eyes flicking from each other to the towering figure in front of them. The Enforcer didn't even bother to arm himself. Instead, he wrapped strips of cloth around his knuckles, his grin widening beneath the skull mask as he finished, savoring the moment.

"This is gonna be fun, boys," he says with anticipation. His tone was almost cheerful, as though he'd been waiting all day for a bit of "exercise." He raises his hands, cracking his knuckles, giving Wheeler and James a mocking little wave as if to say, come on then.

Wheeler glances at James, both of them know what's about to happen. There's no way around it. No talking their way out, not with the Enforcer towering over them, radiating eagerness.

The Enforcer rolls his shoulders, bouncing on his feet like a prizefighter, waiting for one of them to make the first move.

James and Wheeler share a tense, wordless look, understanding passing between them. They know what's on the line, Angela, Wheeler's family back in Georgia. They can't lose, even if they don't stand a chance. With a sharp intake of breath, they dive in, pipes swinging in wild arcs toward the Enforcer, hoping to at least land a hit.

But the Enforcer is quicker than he looked. Effortlessly, he dips and dives, weaving around their blows with ease. To him, their swings are slow, and predictable, as if he's toying with them rather than fighting. He slips out of range just enough to watch their frustration build, each miss pushing them closer to desperation.

"Come on, boys," he taunts, grinning beneath his skull mask. "Is that all you've got?"

James grits his teeth and lunges forward, his pipe aimed at the Enforcer's torso. But the Enforcer sidestepped, a blur of motion, and planted an elbow into James's stomach, sending him stumbling backward, the breath knocked out. Wheeler took the chance to swing hard at the Enforcer's shoulder, but the Enforcer caught the pipe mid-air, twisting it out of Wheeler's grip with a brutal yank.

"Nice try," he sneers, tossing the pipe aside. "But you're gonna have to do better than that."

Wheeler, clutching his side where the knife wound still aches, grits his teeth and swings again, pouring every ounce of strength he has into the move. With a smirk under the skull mask, the Enforcer shoves it back into him, knocking him to the ground. Wheeler collapses, gasping, clutching his ribs as pain floods through him.

James steps forward, fire blazing in his eyes as he lunges again. His grip tightened on the pipe, as he swung with all his might. The Enforcer merely sidesteps, letting the blow whistle harmlessly past his head before he brings his knee up, slamming it into James's gut. James staggers, struggling to stay upright, but the Enforcer doesn't relent, he drives an elbow down onto James's back, forcing him to his knees.

"You are pathetic," the Enforcer says, his voice cold, almost mocking. "You think this is enough to keep her safe?"

James grits his teeth and, with a surge of strength, gets back up and brings the pipe crashing onto the Enforcer's shoulder. There's a dull thud, and for a split second, he dares to hope it did some damage. But the Enforcer just laughs.

"Atta boy!" he sneers, clearly unfazed. Before James can react, the Enforcer's fist comes down on his ribs, one blow after another, each punch landing with brutal precision. James feels a sharp, searing pain as something cracks under the relentless assault. He gasps, vision blurring, but the Enforcer doesn't stop. The hits keep coming, each one tearing through the last of his strength until he collapses onto the cold dirt, barely able to draw breath.

"Not so fun, is it?" the Enforcer says, crouching down, whispering in James's ear. "You'll learn. If you're still conscious, tomorrow, we can go again." He stands, wiping his knuckles, and glancing back at Wheeler, who was slumped and barely moving nearby.

James was gasping for breath, his ribs a blaze of pain.

"You know," The Enforcer says, "that pain you're feeling, those cracked ribs that fire in your chest, it's a special kind of burn, isn't it? Like you're fighting for every breath."

James glared back at him, anger still simmering despite the pain, but the Enforcer just chuckles.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking. You think I don't know this kind of hurt? Let me tell you something, James. I've had bones broken, and ribs crushed just like yours. I've had a bit of ear bitten clean off by some desperate bastard who thought he had a chance." He rolled the mask up just enough to let James see the missing bottom section of a cauliflower ear on the man's right side. "They even tried prison napalm on me once. The inmates take a boiling pot, add some sugar, and dump it all over you." He pauses, letting the words settle over James like a weight in the air. "For the record, that burns like a motherfucker too."

The Enforcer then stands up, looking down at James with a cold, detached satisfaction. "But I'm still here. Still standing. And every little bit of pain? I've given it right back. What about you, James?" He nudges him with his boot. "You got it in ya to give back what you're getting? Or are you already broken?"

Wheeler, defiant even though he was in a haze of pain, staggered back to his feet, gripping the pipe like it was his last lifeline. He swings with all he's got, wild and unsteady, but the Enforcer just sidesteps each blow effortlessly, not even breaking a sweat. With a sharp twist, the Enforcer grabs Wheeler by the wrist, twisting his arm until he has no choice but to release the pipe, which clatters to the ground.

Before Wheeler can react, the Enforcer slams him down, pinning him. Wheeler gasps, wincing in pain.

"I knew it!" Wheeler spat out. "You've been… toying with us… this whole time!"

The Enforcer smirked beneath his skull mask as if Wheeler's accusation were some amusing revelation. "Of course I have," he replies smoothly, glancing back at James before looking back down at Wheeler. "That's the whole point, Officer. Do you think you're here to learn how to fight? No. You're here to learn how to break. Do you think the Order's just about control, about getting you to obey? No, it's about knowing what you're made of when every last shred of hope is gone."

He leans in, lowering his voice. "But don't worry. This is just the beginning."