Dragonblade entered the underground road. It was tight and compact, with not much room from the ceiling to the ground. The smell of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and petrol fumes mixed with the scent of hard-working American people flooded the air as he maneuvered in and out of the cars. But there was no sign of his father.

  Come on, Dad, where are you? he thought.

  So many cars. Passengers had their cameras out. To the people in Miami, Dragonblade was a myth—a hero that had never donned their shores. Now that they had their chance, they weren't about to miss the opportunity, posting his picture on their social media.

  Supernerd23: You’re not going to believe it. Dragonblade’s in Miami! I guess he is real and fyi… he looks much cooler in person. The pictures don't do him justice.

  Malcomherox: Me and my friends had a debate. I guess @malkie @liam @paylon you guys were wrong. Dragonblade is for real, not a New York myth made to frighten the criminals ahaha. So run me my five bucks when you see me at school tomorrow.

  Then, gunshots echoed ahead, ringing in Dragonblade’s ears and gaining his attention.

  Man oh man, he thought. That sonic boom really took it out of me. I don't know how much I've got left. Snap out of it, Gabriel. This is not the moment to start doubting myself.

  Gabriel picked it up a notch, pushing on until he was level with the leading police car. Gabriel signaled to the officer driving the car to wind down the window. The officer turned his head toward his partner, his face laced with confusion.

  “Look,” the officer said, tapping his partner on the shoulder.

  “What is it— what do you want to look at? We have our orders. Just keep eyes on the road before we end up crashing this car.”

  The officer had heard enough. He wasn't about to go through the back-and-forth with his partner. He pulled one hand off the steering wheel, grabbed his partner by his bulletproof vest, and pulled him forward.

  His partner jerked forward toward the dashboard of the car and put out both of his arms instinctively to support himself. His head cast out to the side, a look of disgust painted across every crevice. But his disgust was short-lived. He saw what his partner was asking him to look at; he saw Dragonblade and jumped back, stiffening up in his chair.

  “That’s Dragonblade! What the hell is Dragonblade doing here?” his partner said through gritted teeth as his heart sat in his throat.

  “I don't know, but this isn't good.” The leading officer reached down into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Call Mario.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  His partner looked at his comrade like he had just seen a ghost. “Mario? Why do I have to call him? You call him! I've never dealt with him before!”

  The leading officer’s head shot to the side, casting a look of sheer disgust as he looked his partner in the eye. “Can you get any more stupid?” he said quietly, trying his best to make sure Dragonblade didn't hear him. “Dragonblade is literally right next to me and you want me to what—call Mario and say, ‘Oh Mario, by the way, Dragonblade is here and he's right next to me, what should I do?’”

  The officer’s partner's head dropped and his arm extended, taking the phone. “You’re right. My bad, okay,” he said as he called Mario and put the phone to his ear.

  “Guys—you do know I can hear you both, right?” Dragonblade asked as he scratched the side of his head in confusion.

  But both of the officers pretended they couldn't hear him, then dropped back, allowing Dragonblade to get ahead of them.

  The ringing of the phone set the officer’s partner off. Every dial sent his heart into overdrive, then it stopped. His breaths came heavy and ragged down the line as he waited in anticipation of Mario’s voice.

  “Hello— Nathan,” said Mario.

  His voice was a terrifying enigma; smooth, calm, and not a single wasted breath, yet it struck fear into every single officer's heart in Miami. He was a man who let his actions do the talking for him.

  “I take it you’re calling me, Nathan, because you have him. Well done,” Mario said.

  Nathan’s partner took a huge gulp, then began playing with his collar as beads of sweat began to drop down his head. He had heard how cutthroat Mario was and knew where the officers were buried who had failed him, but now he had to tell him about Dragonblade and that they still didn't have who they were sent to get. He took a deep breath then began to speak.

  “This isn't Nathan... it’s Officer Lance, sir.”

  “Officer Lance? Who the hell is Officer Lance? I've never heard that name before. Where's Nathan?” Mario asked.

  “You recruited me at the Peakhem Night Club, sir, last year. I was the one with Robin.”

  It all came flooding back to Mario. “Argh, I remember you now. The small, bald-headed officer with the bright blue eyes and the beard to make up for the lack of hair.”

  “Yeah, that's me, boss.”

  “Okay, now that we've got the reintroductions all cleared up, where’s Nathan? Put him on the phone.”

  Lance’s eyes cast toward Nathan. Pulling the phone away from his ear, he extended his arm, offering the phone to Nathan. “He wants to speak to you.”

  Nathan took the phone and raised his hand slowly to his ear. “Yes, boss?”

  “Why is that incompetent fool answering your phone, Nathan? What's gone wrong now?”

  The police car felt like a pressure cooker with nowhere to go, with the space continuing to get smaller and smaller with each passing second. “We haven't got our hands on the Black Hood yet, sir. He's proven to be—more slippery than we anticipated.”

  Mario pulled the phone away from his ear. His head twisted to the side, his teeth grinding together as he squeezed the phone tightly in the palm of his hand. He took a moment, a breath or two, then brought the phone back to his ear.

  “So you have the full force of the Miami PD! Helicopters soaring through the damn city! And you can't catch one man in one of my cars?”

  “He’s good, boss,” Nathan replied. “He truly lives up to the reputation he built for himself.”

  “You and your bald-headed comrade listen to me, and listen good. I don't care how good he is; he's not better than the whole of Miami’s police force. Because if he is, that means I need to replace you all, doesn't it, Nathan? So instead of all your excuses, get the job done.