"His name is Donnel McCoy. He runs one of Costa Rica's most powerful estate agencies and holds significant influence in the region," Davis said.
He sat inside a surveillance van with Isaac and two other WFAB agents. The dim glow of monitors lit the interior, each screen displaying a different angle of the Wilby manor.
"He doesn't have a criminal record, but his rap sheet's got plenty of stains—speeding tickets, reckless driving, DUI, vandalism. But check this out."
He turned the tablet toward them, revealing an image of an abandoned warehouse nestled deep in the forest.
"That looks like the same warehouse where the Captain was held captive—before it got blown to smithereens," one of the agents remarked.
"Exactly, Dan," Davis replied. "That building belongs to McCoy. He bought the land a few years before the incident. Can't be a coincidence, right?"
"Yeah. And that gives us an edge," another WFAB agent chimed in. "It's obvious Steven Wilby and Donnel McCoy are working together for Montenegra. They're using McCoy's properties for their dirty work. If we poke around those areas, I'm sure we'll dig up something incriminating."
"You're right, Becky," Davis nodded. "I'm convinced they're running their operations there. If we investigate, we might get our hands on something juicy—something that could bring their whole ring down."
Becky and Dan nodded in agreement.
"Right. So when do we move in, Captain?" Davis asked, turning to Isaac—who sat silently, lost in thought, seemingly unaware of the conversation around him.
"...Captain?"
He called again.
No response.
Isaac's mind was still reeling from the scene he'd witnessed at the gazebo.
Patricia—in that scumbag's arms.
Looking at each other intimately.
Their lips almost touching.
Her voice, soft and confessional, admitting she was falling for him.
Crisby...
Bernard Crisby...
The name echoed in his skull like a curse. His body simmered with rage—not just at Crisby, but at himself. For letting that bastard get close to his Patricia. His Sweeches.
He'd known from the moment he saw him—Crisby was a poisoned dagger coated in honey.
He'd felt the challenge in the air. Known instinctively that this was war.
But what cut deepest was Patricia's dismissal.
Calling his instincts childish jealousy.
Accusing him of not trusting her loyalty.
How ironic.
The one who swore she wouldn't waver... had wavered.
And now she was falling—like a fool—for that idiot.
It hurt.
The thought of her leaving him for that bastard tasted like acid in his throat.
And he hated that feeling.
He hated it like hell.
"Captain!!"
Isaac jolted, yanked from the spiral of his thoughts by Davis's sharp voice.
"Huh?" he responded, confused.
He looked around the van and found everyone staring at him, their expressions expectant. Clearly, they'd been discussing something and had asked for his input—but he'd been too lost in his thoughts to hear a word.
Clearing his throat, he shifted awkwardly in his seat.
"I'm sorry..." he muttered. "Excuse me for a second."
He stood and stepped outside.
The cold air of the impending storm hit his face, the wind sweeping through his golden-brown hair. He walked a short distance from the van, needing space.
The vehicle was well-concealed behind a thick forest, overlooking the Wilby manor.
Earlier, he'd been hellbent on starting a fight with Steven—aka Poison Ivy—if he so much as laid a finger on Patricia. But reason had finally prevailed.
Attacking would only put her in more danger. And he was certain that arrogant brat wouldn't harm her—not if he'd extended the invitation himself.
With that in mind, Isaac had driven into the forested ridge above the manor, waiting until Davis and the team arrived. Together, they moved in quietly, placing surveillance cameras around the estate.
Only to be met with that scene.
Isaac growled, shaking his head as if to dislodge the memory.
He lifted his gaze to the sky.
Dark clouds churned above.
Lightning flashed violently.
And yet—surprisingly—his usual splitting headaches weren't there. His head was silent. As if the horrific, stabbing pain that always came with storms had simply... vanished.
Come to think of it, even his sleepless nights had turned into peaceful slumbers.
And it had all started after that visit to the McCoy family's old mansion.
Was that thing the cause of it?
"Huh..." he exhaled. "I'm tired of this shit."
"Me too."
Isaac was startled by Davis, who now stood beside him.
He shook his head but said nothing.
"Aaa... this is some serious shit we're chasing," Davis muttered, eyes fixed on the manor. "And I've got a feeling something bigger is pulling the strings. I don't like it. Not one bit."
A long silence stretched between them.
"It's the Bulldog," Isaac muttered.
"Huh?" Davis turned to face him.
Isaac sighed.
"Donnel McCoy is the Bulldog. I thought you'd have figured that out by now."
"Ah... huh. And how are you so sure?" Davis asked, brow raised.
Isaac exhaled.
"Crisby said he's involved with Poison Ivy. They've been working together for a long time. And I saw his tattoo—back at that warehouse, when I caught him making out with his venomous boyfriend. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned. It was a bulldog."
He paused, eyes narrowing as he looked toward the manor.
"It's him."
"Mmm... well, I guess we're about to kill two birds with one stone. But do you think Wilby will let us anywhere near his son?" Davis asked.
Isaac snorted.
"Of course not. That lucky little son of a bitch knows we can't touch him. Not yet. That's why he's so brazen. But I've got a feeling the old man doesn't know what he's up to. If he did..."
He clicked his tongue.
"That'd be a different story."
"But they both work for the same man. You really think he's unaware? Or just turning a blind eye?" Davis pressed.
"He doesn't know," Isaac said firmly.
"Even though they serve the same master, one's reckless and the other's careful—and righteous. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have been friends with Patricia's father, Mr. Milton."
He paused.
"Or my father, for that matter," he added quietly.
Davis heard him—but chose not to pry.
It was a sensitive topic. And digging into old wounds wasn't in his playbook.
"So what do we do?" he asked.
"We follow him," Isaac replied.
"Huh?" Davis blinked, confused.
Just before Isaac's line of vision—
A man emerged, dressed in a black suit with an unbuttoned shirt that revealed half his torso, marred by grizzly snake tattoos coiling up his neck and across his face.
Viper.
One of his most wanted.
He strolled casually down the driveway toward a car parked near the gate.
He reached it, climbed into the driver's seat, and started the engine.
"Got you, son of a bitch," Isaac whispered.
He pulled out a small intercom.
"Tag that car and follow it."
Then he turned to Davis and gave a sharp nod.
"Let's go."
"Isaac, wait!" Davis grabbed his arm, halting him.
"Look."
Isaac followed his gaze.
Just as Viper's car exited the gate and disappeared down the road—
A shadow emerged from the darkness, cloaked in a black raincoat.
He stood at the edge of the driveway, watching Viper's retreating car.
Then, slowly, he turned.
His glowing blue eyes locked onto Isaac and Davis.
Their eyes widened in disbelief.
It was him.
The Sleeping Prince.
The one they'd been hunting for—for days.
He stared at them, unblinking.
Then, with a dashing smile, he raised a hand and waved.
And in the next heartbeat—he vanished into thin air, just as lightning split the sky.
Davis and Isaac looked at each other, stunned.
"Go. Go!" Isaac shouted, panic rising in his voice.
They rushed to Isaac's car. He jumped into the driver's seat and roared the engine to life, tires screeching as they sped off after Viper.
"What the fuck was that!" Davis shouted.
"I don't know—but I've got a strong feeling it's going after Viper!" Isaac replied.
"What? It?" Davis asked, eyes wide.
Isaac took a sharp turn, the car skidding as it tore down the street.
"Yes, it! You think that guy was normal?"
Davis fell silent.
"We need to get to Viper before it does," Isaac growled, slamming the accelerator to the floor.
"That's Viper's car up ahead!" Davis pointed. "He's heading for the tunnel!"
Isaac grabbed the radio.
"He's heading into the tunnel—block the exit!"
Two more WFAB vehicles pulled up alongside them, joining the pursuit.
Viper spotted the tail and hit the gas, speeding toward the tunnel.
But as he entered, he found WFAB cars already blocking the far end.
He slammed the brakes, tires screeching.
Panicked, he tried to reverse—but Isaac's car and the others boxed him in.
"Fuck! Shit!" he cursed, slamming the steering wheel.
"How the hell did they find me?"
Isaac and Davis jumped out, guns drawn, taking cover behind their doors as they aimed at Viper's vehicle.
"You're surrounded!" a megaphone blared. "Come out with your hands up! Now!"
Silence.
Isaac glanced at Davis and gave a nod.
The two advanced toward the car—careful, swift, guns raised.
They stopped a few feet away as Isaac called out.
"Viper! You're under arrest! Don't make us come any closer. Step out with your hands up!"
Inside the vehicle, the figure cursed, growled, and shifted—lifting his hands slowly.
"Now exit the vehicle. Nice and slow," Davis ordered.
A long pause.
"Do it. Now!"
The figure moved.
The door creaked open.
Isaac and Davis raised their weapons, bracing for the worst.
"Oley... oley... oxen... free..."
Their eyes widened the moment the figure stepped into view.
It wasn't Viper.
What stood before them made their blood run cold.
"You caught me, detectives," the figure said with a grin.
"Aren't you going to arrest me?"
He chuckled.
The laugh was wrong.
Creepy.
Eerie.
A sound that slithered down their spines and settled in their bones.
Before them stood the Sleeping Prince—neatly tucked in his raincoat, eyes glowing with that eerie, unnatural blue.
Isaac swallowed hard.
"Who are you?"
The Prince smiled—slow, eerie.
"Oh... I think you know who I am, Agent Phillips. But don't worry... we'll have plenty of time to catch up."
He paused, voice dipping into a whisper.
"After I... run some errands..."
Just then, Davis and Isaac's eyes shifted to the open car door—only to widen in horror.
Blood was spilling out.
Thick, dark.
Until it turned black—viscous and unnatural.
The figure stepped toward them, slow and deliberate.
"Don't you fucking move!" Davis shouted, raising his gun at the Prince.
The Prince didn't flinch.
"Don't worry about your... friend. He's still alive. For now. I've got unfinished business with him."
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper.
"You could've had him earlier... but too bad..."
A smirk curled his lips.
"I got here first. Just in time."
Suddenly—lightning cracked across the sky.
The tunnel lights went out.
Thunder roared like war drums.
The agents screamed, covering their ears as the sound tore through the air.
Then—slowly—it began to fade.
Isaac shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears.
"Is everyone alright?" he called out.
"Yeah..." the agents responded one by one, voices shaky but alive.
Isaac turned to Davis.
"You okay?"
Davis nodded.
"Yeah... I'm alright."
Then—
"Haa!" one of the agents gasped.
"The car... it's gone!"
Isaac turned sharply—only to see empty space before them.
The car...
Was gone.
Vanished.
"What the fuck...?" Davis muttered as they stepped closer.
Around them, agents murmured in disbelief, trying to make sense of the impossible.
Isaac knelt beside a small pool of black liquid on the ground.
Suddenly, the liquid shifted—twisting, curling—until it formed letters in a strange, arcane language:
"Zarveth nahl'kren voss tal'dur. Veyrion ek'tal vren'kai. Ulthar ven'kai, myr behal'dor. Kren'thal voss."
And yet—this time, Isaac understood.
"Revenge is best served cold. The race is just beginning. Until next time, my beholder. I had fun."
The black liquid began to smoke—then turned to white ash, scattering into the air.
Davis stood beside him, voice low.
"Things just got more fucking complicated... didn't they?"
Isaac watched the ash swirl and vanish into the wind.
"It's just getting started..." he whispered.
As the white ash danced through the tunnel, lightning flashed overhead—
and thunder roared like a warning from the gods.