Chapter 2: Blood on the Rooftop

Brian froze in shock, hands clawing desperately at his face. I rushed forward, working with Caleb to tie his hands behind his back and drag him to the edge of the rooftop.

He bucked and thrashed, wild like a cornered animal. The gravel skittered beneath his loafers, one shoe scuffing the concrete ledge as we shoved him against a rusted vent pipe.

Getting impatient, I stomped hard on his left calf. He went rigid with pain, veins bulging in his neck.

The crack echoed across the rooftop. Brian's knees buckled, a raw animal yelp muffled under the tape. For a second, his bravado cracked wide open, and the fear was almost pitiful.

We lashed him to an iron pole, taping his forehead and neck to keep his head firmly in place.

The wind tugged at his tie, and I could see sweat running down his hairline, making his greasy part gleam in the overcast light. Caleb’s hands were steady, as if he’d done this a hundred times in his mind.

Caleb pulled a device from his bag, quickly assembled it, and a sharp needle extended from a black base, pressing right up under Brian’s chin.

A microphone stuck out from the base, and Caleb pressed it to Brian’s cheek.

"Listen up, bastard. This mic is voice-activated. The louder you scream, the higher the needle rises."

"If you don’t want your chin pierced through, you’d better keep quiet."

Caleb’s tone was cold and unyielding.

Brian’s eyes bulged, defiant, glaring at us.

Even trussed up, he tried to project swagger—a dying act. But behind those eyes, you could see the truth: pure, sweaty panic. I wondered if he was replaying every bad thing he’d ever done, realizing how thin the line was between predator and prey.

I didn’t indulge him. I clapped my hands right next to the mic. The needle responded instantly, rising slowly—then suddenly piercing into Brian’s chin.

A few drops of blood slid down the needle.

The sound was faint, but I’ll never forget it—the little gasp that escaped him, the way his body tensed like a live wire. His feet shuffled on the gravel, trying to find purchase where there was none.

He tried to lift his head, but it was useless. The pain made his nose twitch uncontrollably.

When I stopped clapping, the needle slowly descended. Seizing the moment, I searched Brian’s phone.

My hands moved fast, muscle memory from years of scrolling through texts, swiping through endless photos of vacations, office parties, and nights out I was never invited to. The phone was warm, slick with his sweat.

Caleb ripped the tape from Brian’s mouth.

Brian trembled, not daring to raise his voice. In a hoarse whisper, he asked, "Guys, who the hell are you?"

I ignored him, letting the silence grow thick and suffocating.

There’s a special kind of power in silence, the kind that makes a man sweat bullets. I let him twist while my thumb flicked through his camera roll, my jaw clenched so tight I could taste blood.

On his phone, I found the video from that night.

My wife’s hands were tied behind her back. She cowered on the sofa, her face etched with helplessness.

They kept pouring beer over her, jeering and shouting like animals.

The laughter in the background was jagged, ugly, the kind of sound you hear in nightmares. One of them—Mark’s voice, I recognized it—sang off-key, while Brian egged him on, slurring threats that made my stomach turn.

"Haha, let’s play something even more exciting later! Record it all! If she doesn’t cooperate next time, we’ll upload it to those shady websites for everyone to see!"

My temples throbbed. I clenched my teeth so hard they nearly cracked, then silently pocketed the phone.

The phone felt like a live grenade in my palm. I wanted to hurl it off the roof, but I needed proof. I needed to make them pay in a way they’d never forget.

Seeing my face turn ashen, Brian grew even more frantic. His lips quivered as he begged, "Man, who are you? What do you want?"

I spat out coldly, "You might as well know before you die. I’m Natalie’s husband."

Brian’s face went white as a sheet. He stammered, pleading, "M-man, it was all a misunderstanding, I swear!"

He lowered his voice, groveling like a beaten dog. Seeing I didn’t respond, he tried again: "Look, I know I was wrong. I’ll wire you ten grand, okay? Just—just forget this ever happened."

Ha! Compensation? How fucking ridiculous. Is there anything in this world that can’t be solved with money?

In that moment, I almost laughed at the sheer arrogance. He actually believed a few zeroes could buy off a soul. I glanced at Caleb, who just shook his head, lips pressed thin. We’d seen this act too many times.

I sneered, clapping my hands near the mic. The sharp needle shot up, stabbing deep into Brian’s chin.

He howled in pain, but the louder he screamed, the deeper the needle drove. He showed astonishing endurance, gritting his teeth, sweat pouring from his forehead.

The sound bounced off the rooftop walls, blending with the distant honk of a city bus and the distant rumble of the L train. I kept my gaze fixed, refusing to flinch. For every cry, I pictured my wife—her last night, her fear.

I slowed my clapping, making the needle rise and fall, in and out, over and over.

After tormenting him enough, Caleb dismantled the device, untied him, and slapped the tape back over his mouth.

My hands were sticky with sweat and something darker. I wanted to throw up, but I couldn’t. Caleb’s face was stone, but his knuckles were white.

I fixed a long blade to the edge of the rooftop, then forced Brian to stand right at the brink.

The howling wind battered him, and soon the bastard pissed himself, sobbing and begging for mercy.

His tears streaked down his face, mixing with snot and sweat. The city wind yanked at his shirt, flapping it like a flag of surrender. In that moment, he wasn’t a boss or a predator—just another man terrified of the edge.

Caleb glanced at me, his pale face set with grim resolve.

I picked up a medium-sized stone, aimed, and smashed it into Brian’s head.

There was a sickening thunk, and Brian’s legs crumpled. I almost heard my own heart stop as he pitched forward, caught by the rope at the last possible second.

He lost his balance, tumbling off the rooftop. The rope tied around him went taut in an instant.

Just like that, he dangled in midair, swinging back and forth as the thick rope scraped against the blade.

Every swing shaved a few more threads. He spun slowly, city sounds echoing below, his shoes slipping off one by one. I watched, numb, feeling nothing and everything at once.

It wouldn’t be long before it snapped completely.

Soon, a commotion erupted inside the building.

The shouts reached us even through the stairwell door. Sirens wailed in the distance—a warning or a promise. We moved fast, adrenaline making my legs weak.

Caleb and I slipped away quickly. The elevator descended slowly, the glass walls reflecting the silhouette of the neighboring building.

I wiped my face on my sleeve, not daring to breathe as the numbers ticked down. Caleb stared straight ahead, eyes dead, hands balled into fists.

Before long, a black object plummeted past the window, followed by screams from the crowd below.

We walked away without looking back.

The city swallowed us, the sidewalk cold beneath our sneakers. Somewhere, a dog barked. The world kept spinning, uncaring and unchanged.