The Vigilante

Chapter 1

Axl's murder was the catalyst that shattered my world. Losing a brother is a profound pain, but losing a twin brother is an anguish beyond words.

I retreated into my room for months after his death. I couldn't fathom how Axl, one of the kindest and gentlest souls I knew, met such a cruel end. He didn't deserve to die in the manner he did.

My mind often drifted to that harrowing night when I found myself caught in the crossfire of a police standoff with Hydra—an organized crime group with tentacles extending into every state of the U.S. It's a memory I'd rather suppress. I've shouldered the weight of guilt since that day, believing that I failed to protect him.

In the wake of his death, I forged a singular purpose: to locate his murderer and dismantle the entire organization behind it.

Yet, I wasn't naive. I understood that a seemingly defenseless girl had little chance against a group of armed criminals. So, I dedicated myself to rigorous training. I sought out the finest MMA and martial arts instructors, enduring years of relentless practice to hone both my combat skills and weapon expertise.

Thanks to this training, I've swiftly incapacitated 300-pound men, but the cost has been numerous fractured bones and black eyes. Following my brother's death, I left my hometown and embarked on a journey to New York after uncovering the hidden location of Hydra's headquarters. I didn't have all the answers on how to bring them down, but revenge was within my reach.

I reluctantly peeled my eyes open and glanced at the alarm on my bedside table. The resentment for early mornings coursed through me. Who decided that 7 am was a respectable time to wake up? I mused that whoever made that call needed a lesson, perhaps with the end of my fist. After turning off the alarm, I gingerly eased myself out of bed. The encounter with a mugger the previous night had left my back aching. It was just my luck to cross paths with a skilled fighter on the eve of my first day at a new job.

Miraculously, I had secured a waitressing position at "Frankferts," an upscale restaurant nestled in the heart of the Upper East Side. While my training required me to be there at 9 am, my actual shifts would be during the night. Punctuality was crucial, even for training.

I wandered into the bathroom, stepping onto the cold tile floor, and approached the mirror. I cringed at the reflection that stared back at me, marked by a prominent bruise on my cheek. I wasn't usually the epitome of perfection, but that bruise carried tales I'd rather keep buried. The reflection revealed a pale girl with light brown eyes and unruly black hair. I ran my fingers through my hair, grabbed my comb, and set to work.

After a meticulous regimen of makeup, a thorough brushing, and a refreshing shower, I emerged from my compact studio apartment and embarked on the brisk walk through the chilly streets of Hell's Kitchen in New York City. I arrived at Frankferts with a generous 20 minutes to spare and was met by a striking blonde woman who appeared to be around 26. The restaurant's staff resembled runway models, and it was no surprise given its luxury status. I approached her as she tidied up an area and extended a friendly smile. "Hello, I'm Aria Kyle, here for training." She cast a quick but evaluating gaze over me before responding, "Nice to meet you; I'm Vanessa. Please follow me." I released an inaudible sigh of relief and trailed her into what seemed like an office.

After a flurry of paperwork that felt like signing away my life, I chatted with Vanessa for a few minutes. She revealed herself to be a shift supervisor, providing me with essential insights into serving customers and handling kitchen orders. After an hour of rigorous training, she handed me my uniform and instructed me to return at 6 pm.