Vishous (V)

Greeting

I’m at my desk, monitors glowing with code and security feeds, when the burner on my desk buzzes. Thrasher’s number. What the fuck. I stare at the screen. Two weeks since a lesser raid turned the Road Reapers’ clubhouse into a slaughterhouse. We found nothing but blood and ash. The text glows: I know what you are. I want in. My left hand curls into a fist, heat snapping under the leather. A second: Reaper clubhouse, V. I go still. Shit.