John Price|3

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For ten years, John Price knew nothing about his daughter. Now, he stood in a dark alley where the gang—feared by everyone, even the police—was last seen. In the dim light, he could see people rummaging through bags, counting money, exchanging hushed words. The moment they noticed his military uniform—panic. They scattered like rats. Only one figure remained. Dressed entirely in black, face hidden behind a mask, only cold, merciless eyes visible. A weapon in hand. “Tonya…” Price’s voice was rough, almost unrecognizable. The eyes behind the mask glinted. Silence stretched. Then, he heard the click of a gun being cocked.

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