Hancock Fallout Novels & Stories

The peace felt fragile, like thin glass that could shatter at any moment. Rafael’s phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up, showing one name—Haris. Rafael quickly picked it up. “Haris?” The voice on the other end was firm, a little rushed. “Sir, I managed to track down Edgar Marvelo. He’s at a hideout on the outskirts of the city. I’ve confirmed it. There’s no mistake. The man can’t run anymore.” Rafael straightened, his jaw tightening. “Are you sure?”

“Have a good evening.” It’s all he says before pumping his wings and then rising into the sky so that he mixes with the bats and airplanes that hover high above, and it is only when he is out of sight that I move and lean against the banister so I can stare down at the city below. “Fuck,” I growl, brushing my hand along my face while my anger continues to ebb and flow. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Ciaran?” ‘Don’t you know.’

"I said, WHO FUCKING GAVE HER THE DRUGS!?" She flinches at my tone and I cuss under my breath for a second. I take a deep breath before speaking. "Look Tiffany—" "I don't know who did it. I have no idea. I promise." Her breathing has become unstable again and she's trembling at this moment. She buries her face in her palms, her loud sobs filling the room. I sigh before pulling her into a hug. "I'm so sorry, I'm really very sorry. I—I—"

On day five, I understood why they wanted me in the dark. The news ticker at the bottom of the screen was a rolling obituary for the city’s peace. "Last night, the heart of Havenfall was ripped open by a coordinated strike from independent crews," the anchor said, her face tight with manufactured concern. "Two Cocolink enforcers were executed at the perimeter. The aftermath? Three bank vaults emptied, a dozen high-end residential hits, and five bodies in the morgue."

" There has been an explosion. A missile hit us. " The words traveled through Mike's ears . The echoes continued only in his head. An explosion in Philadelphia. He looked at the direction the smoke rose from and his eyes dilated. In the main floor of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, people moved helter-skelter. The computer screens were all displaying the same image. Thick smoke was rising above the nation into the sky from a location. Kane walked in gently and was about to go his way when he saw the display on the screens. He paused.

“I’m not sure…” “Listen Gabriel. I can tell you believe what you say is true, but technology can debunk anything you have. You researched my name because you are a terrorist.” Agent Fuller pointed to a file then capturing Gabriel’s attention. “I lied before. You are in the database, but it’s not making much sense. Gabriel Hall has been dead for over thirty years. Tragic car accident with his entire family and his older brother Ezekiel Hall. So there is no way you are who you claim.”

Ken poured water on a glass and gave it to Roy to drink. Roy greedily drank the water from the glass and a tiny burp escaped his throat. With the fuzzy pain still hammering his head, Roy feebly asked. "What happened?" Monroe tore the medicine packet—altogether replying to Roy. "You caught the seasonal flu. Here." Roy slowly took the medicine from Monroe and swallowed it. "How long was I out?" "The whole afternoon till evening." Ken answered this time. Roy shook his head and closed his eyes. This was the first time in many years, he caught the seasonal flu.

she asked in a trembling voice, the word barely escaping her lips. Her heart raced, and her hands shook as tears began to spill from her eyes, blurring her vision. The floodgates of emotion had opened, and she couldn’t stop the torrent of grief and confusion that poured out. The world she had known—her life with Lucas, the dreams they had shared—was now tainted with a truth she could hardly bear.

“You’re going to tell him!” “Of course! If he were a partisan of the dark arts he would be held to atone as much as any witch in Drimidan!” *** Mayor Marx slapped on a wide brimmed black hat and his cloak. Handing me my blue one. “Wh-where are we-we going?” “Up to WitchFall.” I swallowed. But before I could formulate a rational complaint, Mayor Marx had bundled me into his carriage, and it was rattling down the road toward the hill. With every roll of the wheels, I felt like my gut was dropping further into my feet.

Is there any way out from this hellhole? *****