The War God Is Back

Chapter 6

The men said nothing.

Their silence wasn’t the kind that came from fear alone—it was deliberate, controlled. It told me everything I needed to know. These weren’t random street thugs who had wandered into the wrong room. Someone had sent them, and whoever that person was, they were important enough to keep these men quiet even under pressure.

I tightened my grip on the one I had pinned, pressing him harder against the wall until his back hit it with a dull thud. “This is your last chance,” I said, my voice low but edged with warning.

Then my patience snapped.

“Tell me who sent you!” I barked.

He looked straight at me, his eyes empty, almost lifeless. For a brief second, it seemed like he might speak, like something inside him was about to give, but nothing came. Not a single word. The one I had knocked down earlier showed the same stubborn resolve. They had already made their choice.

Before I could push further, everything changed in an instant.

One of them made a sudden move, desperation written all over it. He grabbed a loose steel bar from the ground and swung it with everything he had.

I didn’t see it coming.

The impact slammed into the side of my head, sharp and heavy. Pain exploded through my skull, forcing a grunt out of me as my vision blurred. The world tilted, and I dropped to the floor, momentarily disoriented.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but ringing in my ears.

When I finally forced myself back to my senses, the room was empty.

I pushed myself up quickly, my balance still unsteady as my vision swam. The door stood wide open, and the faint echo of retreating footsteps faded into the distance.

They were gone.

The lights flickered back to life, harsh and unforgiving. I moved to the window and scanned the streets below, searching for any sign of them, but there was nothing. It was as if they had vanished into thin air.

My hands curled into fists, frustration tightening in my chest. Whoever had sent them clearly wasn’t trying to finish me off—not yet. This felt more like a warning, a message delivered without words. And the fact that those men chose silence over survival meant they feared their employer far more than they feared me.

I rubbed the side of my head, feeling the lingering sting where the steel bar had struck.

The next morning came too quickly.

I stood in front of the dormitory’s supply closet, staring at the uniform they had issued me. It was a faded blue jumpsuit with “Everwood Sanitation Services” printed across the back in dull lettering. The fabric felt coarse to the touch, the stitching worn and uneven, and it carried a faint smell of bleach mixed with grease. I exhaled slowly before pulling it on, adjusting it without much enthusiasm.

The work site was located deep within the industrial district, a place that felt forgotten even by the city itself. Warehouses stretched endlessly, their walls stained with rust, while factories and processing plants filled the air with noise and pollution. The atmosphere was thick with the smell of oil, burnt rubber, and something sour that lingered unpleasantly in the nose.

The sanitation station sat tucked into the corner of one of those aging buildings, its exterior marked by years of neglect.

Stepping inside didn’t make things any better.

The floor was slick, coated in what looked like a mixture of spilled oil and murky water that reflected the flickering fluorescent lights above. Those lights buzzed faintly, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow that made the entire place feel even more unwelcoming. Off to the side, a small break area consisted of a dented vending machine and a few plastic chairs, some of which were missing legs and leaned awkwardly against the wall. In the center of the room sat a large dumpster, overflowing, its contents already spilling onto the floor.

Then I heard it—laughter.

A group of men stood nearby, their uniforms just as filthy as the environment around them. One of them, a stocky bald man with a crooked grin, leaned casually against the wall as he spoke, gesturing like he owned the place.

“Hey, boys, look who’s here!” he called out loudly. “Vinnie’s younger brother finally decided to join the family business!”

The others laughed along with him, their voices echoing off the grimy walls.

I didn’t react. Instead, I walked past them toward the supply rack and picked up what I needed—a mop, a bucket, and a pair of gloves that looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years.

But the bald man wasn’t finished.

He pushed himself off the wall and approached me, his grin widening. “What’s the matter, pretty boy? Too good to talk to us lowly sanitation engineers? Or are you still figuring out how to use a mop?”

The men behind him snickered, clearly enjoying the show.

I kept my expression steady, tightening my grip slightly on the mop handle. “I’m here to work,” I said calmly, “not to entertain you.”

That only seemed to amuse him more. He laughed and clapped one of his coworkers on the shoulder. “Oh, he’s got a bit of fire in him, doesn’t he? Let’s just hope he’s better at cleaning floors than he is at talking back.”

I drew in a slow breath, forcing myself to remain composed. Reacting would only give them what they wanted, and drawing attention was the last thing I needed right now.

I turned to leave, ready to get on with the job, but he stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

“Hey!” he snapped. “When someone talks to you, you answer. Or do you want to end up inside that dumpster you’re supposed to be cleaning?”

Another voice chimed in from behind him. “Yeah, mop boy. Stop acting like you’re better than the rest of us. You’re standing in the same dirt now.”

I met his gaze, my patience thinning. “I think you should stop,” I said.

His grin only grew wider, clearly enjoying every second of it. “Don’t call me ‘man,’ rookie,” he said. “The name’s Bruno. And you’d better remember it.”

He stepped closer, puffing out his chest as if he were asserting dominance. “Do you even know who I am?” he asked loudly, making sure the others could hear.

Before I could answer, one of the men spoke up. “You don’t know Bruno? He’s got family in HR. Around here, that makes him king.”

The group laughed again, feeding his ego.

The same man added with a smirk, “Even your older brother, Vinnie, wouldn’t cross him. Sure, Vinnie married the boss’s daughter, but we all know what that makes him—a pathetic son-in-law.”

That did it.

My grip tightened around the mop handle, the wood creaking slightly under the pressure, but I held still for one last second.

Bruno leaned in closer, sensing he had struck something. “What’s the matter, Justin?” he taunted. “Truth hitting a little too hard? Face it—you’re just a nobody pretending to belong in someone else’s world.”

He didn’t get to say another word.

My fist connected with his jaw in a single, clean motion, sending him crashing to the ground.

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COMPANY CLINICAL DEPARTMENT

Ten minutes later, Bruno sat slumped on the edge of a medical cot, his swollen lip and bruised face being treated by the staff. He winced as antiseptic was applied, the skin on his cheek already turning a deep shade of purple.

I stood nearby, leaning casually against the wall, watching in silence. My expression gave nothing away, but his muffled groans were… satisfying.

The door opened, and Reginald, the department supervisor, strode in. His sharp eyes moved between Bruno and me, quickly assessing the situation.

“Justin George,” he called out.

I met his gaze but said nothing.

“I hope you understand the seriousness of what you’ve done,” he continued, his tone firm.

Still, I didn’t respond.

He folded his arms, clearly displeased. “You’ve been given a rare opportunity here. Do you have any idea how fortunate you are? According to company policy, engaging in physical altercations is grounds for immediate dismissal.”