Chapter 3 - The Calamity of Arrogance
The air between the two men grew heavy, cold, and still. The muscular man in the denim jacket shifted his weight slightly, sensing the sudden shift in atmospheric pressure, though Victor remained entirely oblivious, wrapped in the false security of his status and authority.
Arthur didn't reach down to retrieve his cap. He stood tall against the brick wall, drawing his shoulders back as his tear-filled eyes locked onto Victor’s wire-rimmed glasses with a terrifying, calm clarity that made Victor’s smirk flicker for a microsecond.
"Your pension is over, old man," Victor repeated, leaning in closer, his voice dropping into a sharp, poisonous hiss meant to shatter whatever pride the old veteran had left. "Someone like you doesn't need papers anymore."
Arthur didn't flinch. He didn't raise his fists, nor did he yell. Instead, he took a slow, deep breath, his chest expanding beneath his tan uniform, and looked past Victor’s shoulder toward the far end of the cobblestone avenue.
"Son," Arthur said, his voice dropping into a quiet, ominous register that carried the absolute weight of a tactical command. "You better look at the road."
Victor scoffed, rolling his eyes beneath his glasses. "What did you say to me? You think some pathetic warning is going to—"
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Before Victor could finish his sentence, the sharp, deafening screech of heavy rubber tires tore through the quiet street.
The high-pitched wail of police sirens burst into the air, echoing off the red-brick facades like a sudden thunderclap. From around the corner of the avenue, a convoy of four massive, pitch-black armored SUVs roared into view, their front grilles flashing with aggressive red and blue strobe lights. The sheer kinetic force of the heavy vehicles vibrated through the concrete sidewalk beneath Victor's feet, causing the coin inside Arthur's fallen cap to rattle against the wool.
