Ten years have passed—like soft wind over a sleepy hill.
Azrael lived with his kids in a little home tucked into a pocket of peace—a warm, drowsy town where the grass grows like hair and sunsets flirt with the rooftops. The house was small, cluttered with string lights, toys, and half-finished character sketches. It always smelled like pine, cinnamon, and old computers.
Azrael was quietly famous—the kind that doesn't wear sunglasses indoors or yell on podcasts. He just made games.
The kind that stuck with people. That changed them. That taught you how to simply be.
The teenagers—though they still stubbornly called themselves "the kids"—trailed after him like clingy ducklings. They were always close, always around. Sometimes they weren't even doing anything useful—just loitering in his studio, stealing his snacks, hijacking his soundboard. Azrael—beloved dad of the entire town—would only laugh, giving piggyback rides when no one else was watching.
One soft, sun-drenched morning, he was on a video call—talking to his moderators about patch notes and bug fixes. The webcam panned across his desk… and then a blur streaked past. Then another.
Giggling. Then—CRASH.
One of the kids tripped over air and landed square in his lap. Suddenly the camera filled with hair, limbs, laughter—and a voice whining: "Daddd! You promised ice creaaaam!"
It was Azura, the youngest.
Seven years old. Twenty-five in intelligence.
And yet—still his child.
The mods? Of course they were charmed.
Azrael sighed—fond, not frustrated. His soft green eyes were gentle, glowing with endless patience.
He was the kind of father who smiled with his whole soul, even while being tackled mid-meeting.
Meanwhile—on the other side of the world—peace had no place.
Archielle moved like a blade, gleaming and silent. Gabriel grinned like he was about to fistfight Zeus for Hera's hand. Lucian muttered something sharp, his fingers flying across a hacked security panel.
They were in.
A high-security facility—clean, cold, humming with hidden alarms. They weren't even sure what they were after anymore.
A relic? Classified files? Maybe just the truth. Whatever it was—it was dangerous. Forbidden.
Laser grids hissed, ready to slice the foolish.
Voices whispered through sterile white halls.
Archielle dove, barely avoiding a beam that would've kissed her heart.
Waynn reacted fast, yanking Navy back by the collar before he triggered something idiotic.
Lucian hissed, "Touch one more red wire, and I'm removing your hands."
Navy just smiled, shameless. Waynn hauled him up again before he repeated history.
This. Fucking. Team.
—MEANWHILE
Back home, the sun was still warm.
Azrael strolled through the local park, vanilla ice cream in one hand, his hoodie too big and sleeves past his fingers. His smile even bigger—reaching his eyes.
The kids surrounded him, ice creams melting fast, laughter louder than the birdsong.
Then—
Sirens.
The moment split. Shattered.
SWAT vans. Police. Screams. Guns raised.
"ON THE GROUND! NOW!"
Azrael didn't flinch. Not a twitch.
He raised his hands, slow and calm—the way he would to soothe anxious players at conventions. His thoughts? Not himself. The kids. Always the kids.
They were crying. Shaking. Pleading with the officers not to hurt their dad.
They clung to him like shipwreck survivors. And still, he stayed calm—for them.
Even when they cuffed him.
Even when they sedated the kids—because they refused to let go.
He whispered just once, voice hushed and unwavering: "It's going to be okay. I promise."
Then they dragged him away.
Bystanders helped the children, tried to soothe them. Sat them on benches. Gave them water. But they kept crying. Calling for him.
The town mayor—Achilles—stood nearby, jaw locked, pulling out his phone. First call: ambulances. Second: him.
Across the world—
"WHAT?!"
Lucian nearly shattered his headset.
They were mid-heist when the transmission came through. A shaky video: Azrael in cuffs. Children sobbing. Achilles's voice breaking as he called for help.
The charges? International terrorism. War crimes.
Gabriel went white as ghostlight.
Archielle was already packing the explosives.
"We're leaving."
"Wait—" Gabriel choked, his voice dry. "They think it's me. They think he's me."
Everyone froze.
"You have two minutes," Archielle growled, "before I break your spine."
Gabriel nodded. Trembling. He deserved that.
Then he spoke—rushed, broken, hoarse.
Years ago. A mission gone wrong. A scorched identity. A wrong face borrowed.
Azrael's face.
Twins. Nearly identical, except for height, posture, and soul.
The enemy followed the wrong trail.
And now Azrael—the kindest soul alive—was being mistaken for a ghost with bloodied hands.
Gabriel needed to go back. To fix it. To shield him.
But Archielle grabbed him by the collar.
"If they see you now, they won't ask questions. They'll just shoot."
Plan: finish the mission. Secure the data. Leverage it. Weaponize it. Trade it.
Do whatever it takes.
Meanwhile—
Interrogation Room.
Cold.
Grey.
Buzzing fluorescent lights.
Camera blinking in the corner.
Azrael sat with folded hands, calm.
"I'm a game developer," he explained gently. "This has to be a mistake."
The officer didn't blink.
He just slammed a photo down: Gabriel—bloodied, unhinged. Practically Azrael's reflection.
A whisper from one officer to another: "He's too calm. Only the guilty are that calm."
Azrael just stared at the photo.
He didn't cry.
Not yet, at least.
Then—
BOOM.
Lights out.
Sirens.
Explosions.
Archielle. Gabriel. Lucian. Khial. Onix. Waynn. Navy.
They got in. Barely.
Lucian faked a new suspect. Gabriel erased them both.
They'd try legal routes first. But if that failed?
They'd burn everything down.
Back in Oregon—Azrael was shackled. Hands behind his back. Legs chained. Moved again.
A black site. No maps. No sunlight.
From a nearby hill, Gabriel watched the convoy disappear down a stretch of dirt road.
His fists trembled. Eyes full of fire, anger maybe?.
He whispered—
"Hold on, brother. I'm coming."
Azrael's eyes flickered back, as if hearing what Gabriel had said.
Maybe he heard, maybe he didn't.
(Started: 04/06/2025 - Finished: 21/06/2025 - Published: 30/06/2025)
(Written By OW1 and OW4 - reviewed by OW3 - Proofread by OW2)