Chapter 1 - The Midnight Shift
The cold rain hammered fiercely against the glowing neon sign of the diner. Noah Parker wiped down the laminated counter for the fourth time that hour. He was just a regular college dropout trying to make ends meet on the graveyard shift. The diner was completely empty, smelling faintly of stale coffee and industrial bleach. Outside, the interstate was a lonely stretch of black asphalt reflecting the dim streetlights. It was exactly the kind of miserable night where nothing interesting ever happened. Noah sighed heavily and tossed his dirty rag into the deep stainless steel sink. He poured himself a bitter cup of leftover coffee to help himself stay awake. Suddenly, the rusty brass bell above the front glass door chimed softly. An elderly man shuffled inside, his thin gray coat soaked completely through. He looked incredibly exhausted and frail, trembling violently from the biting cold. The man was holding a worn leather satchel tightly against his frail chest. Noah felt a sudden, inexplicable pang of deep empathy for the lonely stranger. He did not ask if the man had money or if he was going to order a hot meal. Noah simply walked to the glass fridge and grabbed a fresh bottle of spring water. He then placed a generous basket of warm, freshly buttered rolls onto a clean tray. Noah walked around the counter and approached the shivering elderly man. "This is on the house, sir," Noah smiled warmly, sliding the food across the table. The old man nodded slowly, his pale eyes holding a strange, piercing gratitude. "You have a very kind heart, son," the old man whispered in a raspy, quiet voice. He reached into his deep pocket as if to offer a tip, but Noah gently waved him off. Before Noah could walk away, the front door burst open with a terrifying crash. Five massive men wearing heavy leather biker jackets stormed into the quiet diner. They brought the overwhelming smell of motor oil and cheap tobacco into the clean room. Their leader, a heavily scarred man named Viper, locked his cold eyes onto the old man. They surrounded the small corner booth like a pack of starving wolves cornering wounded prey. Viper slammed a heavy combat knife down, burying it deep into the wooden tabletop. The sharp blade missed the old man's trembling hand by a mere fraction of an inch. "You really thought you could hide from the syndicate forever, old timer?" Viper snarled cruelly. Noah instinctively grabbed the diner's landline phone to call the local police. Viper caught the sudden movement in his peripheral vision and hurled a heavy ceramic coffee mug. The heavy mug shattered aggressively against the back wall as Noah ducked just in time. The old man did not flinch, but instead slowly looked up at the towering, angry biker. "You boys made a very grave mistake coming into this diner tonight," the old man whispered calmly. Before Viper could laugh at the empty threat, the diner's overhead lights violently exploded.
