Officer Magnus Upsall sat motionless on the rooftop, the neon haze of Lerrick reflecting off his visor. His heart pounded rhythmically in his chest, but his hands remained steady, clutching his ancient but custom-modified HK G36. Below, the sprawling maze of Lerrick’s harborside buzzed with life, awash in a sea of electric blue and crimson lights. Pedestrians ambled through the rain-slicked streets. It rains most days on Zetland; the locals mostly ignore it. Holographic advertisements flickered and danced on every surface.
Magnus had been here for hours, hidden among the shadows, his scope trained on the target building across the street. Inside, a known drug dealer, Androw Sårheim, was hosting a meeting with his lieutenants. The intel was solid; this was the best chance they’d had in months to bring Sårheim down. But for Magnus, this wasn’t just another operation.
The memory of his younger brother, Olaw, plagued his thoughts. Olaw, with his life still ahead of him, had fallen victim to the latest designer drug sweeping through the island—Haze. It had been laced with something extra, something lethal. By the time Magnus found him, it was too late. The autopsy led him to Sårheim, the man responsible for the distribution of that fatal batch. Since then, Magnus’s every waking moment had been driven by a singular purpose: vengeance.
“Upsall, status?” Sargeant Morland’s voice cracked in his earpiece, breaking through his reverie.
“In position, target acquired, ”Magnus responded, his voice a practiced calm.
“Hold your fire until we get the go-ahead. We need him alive for interrogation.”
Magnus’s jaw tightened. Through his scope, he could see Sårheim seated at the head of a table, exuding an aura of untouchable confidence. Every fiber of Magnus’s being screamed to pull the trigger, to end the man who had taken Olaw from him. His finger hovered over the trigger, the weight of his duty clashing with the pull of his desire for revenge.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts. The rain intensified, pattering against his visor and rifle barrel. The rhythmic drumming mirrored the chaotic storm within him. He had a clear shot, and he knew it wouldn’t miss.
“Upsall, do you copy? Hold your fire,” Morland’s voice insisted, more urgent now.
The pressure built an almost tangible force pressing down on him. He could end Sårheim right now and save countless future lives. But he also knew the value of due process and the importance of doing things by the book. His finger twitched.
Then, movement. Through the scope, Magnus saw one of Sårheim’s men draw a weapon, pointing it at Sårheim himself. It was a power struggle, a coup. Sårheim’s empire was crumbling from within. The man yelled something, his face contorted in anger. Sårheim raised his hands placatingly, but he was clearly losing control.
Magnus’s mind raced. He could remove Sårheim and let the internal conflict decimate the rest if he fired now. But it wasn’t clean. It wasn’t justice. It was personal revenge.
“Upsall! Report!” The pounding rain almost drowned out Morland’s voice.
He had seconds to decide. The internal struggle reached a fever pitch. Olaw’s face flashed before his eyes, and the short life snuffed out too soon. And then he remembered his training, oath, and promise to uphold the law.
With a sigh, Magnus activated his comm. “Target in sight, but there’s a situation. Sårheim’s men are turning on him.”
“Hold position. The backup is en route. Do not engage.”
Magnus watched as the tension in the room below erupted into violence. Gunfire flashed, and bodies fell—Sårheim, surprisingly agile, diving for cover, returning fire. The room became a battlefield, but Magnus held his position, every instinct screaming at him to act.
Finally, Sårheim made a break for it, heading towards a side exit. Magnus adjusted his aim, tracking him through the chaos. He could end it now—a single shot to the leg would incapacitate him without a kill. He took a deep breath, steadying his hand.
The shot rang out, cutting through the night. Sårheim fell, clutching his leg, his escape thwarted. Magnus exhaled, the tension draining from his body. He had done it.
“Target down but alive,” Magnus reported, a mixture of relief and exhaustion in his voice.
“Good work, Upsall. We’re moving in,” Morland replied, sirens approaching in the background.
Magnus lowered his rifle, the rain washing over him, cleansing him. Olaw’s death was not avenged in blood, but perhaps, in time, in the course of justice, there would be peace.
As the team moved in to apprehend Sårheim, Magnus remained on the rooftop, staring Lerrick’s skyline. The neon lights flickered, casting eerie shadows.
He stood, slinging his rifle over his shoulder, and descended back to the street.