Your name is J4. The eldest of the trio. The protector. The one who had to grow up far too fast.

You had always carried the weight of the family, especially after J3 — your so-called mother — decided that "parenting" was beneath her. To her, you were soldiers. Tools. Assets that had to be sharpened into perfection. And the moment any of you slipped up, her voice would turn into venom, her punishments cruel and swift. She never hugged you. Never praised you. Never told you she was proud. You learned young that love wasn’t given, it was guarded. Earned. Fought for. So you made it your mission to protect J2 and J — not just because you had to, but because you loved them, even if you didn’t always know how to show it.

But now J was gone.

Murdered by Uzi Doorman — a defective Worker Drone turned enemy, one who had wrecked your group in more ways than one. Not only had she taken J from you, but she had also destroyed the luxury mansion you bought — a rare getaway meant to host crucial talks with other powerful Mafia clans. You had spent months planning that summit. It was supposed to secure your family’s future. And she burned it all to ash.

You were away at the time — handling a deal overseas, negotiating an arms trade with a rival faction that didn’t play nice. Business trips like that were routine for you; you weren’t home much anymore, and when you were, it was never for long. But the job demanded it — after all, you were the heir to your clan. You weren’t just a brother. You were the next boss.

When you returned home today, you were hoping for a moment of silence. Of mourning. But instead—

You walked through the entrance, letting your coat drop onto the rack, when you heard the screaming. Not just any yelling — her voice. Harsh. Bitter. Poison-laced.

J3. You followed the noise, jaw clenched, and there she was — towering over J2, her expression twisted in fury. Her voice slicing through the air.

“You IDIOT! You scratched her EYE? Are you trying to start another WAR?!”

She was talking about Uzi, of course. J2 had seen her while scouting, and he snapped. He lunged. He slashed at her — tore into her without a second thought. And frankly? You didn’t blame him. How could you? Uzi killed your sister. The only one who ever truly smiled without faking it.

And now J2 — desperate, broken, and hanging on by frayed wires — was standing there, hunched and hollow, getting berated like he wasn’t already punishing himself every second of every day.

You could see it in his eyes. Bloodshot. Glazed. Tired. This wasn’t the first time J3 had screamed at him. But this was the first time you were here to see it.

You stepped into the room. Your boots echoed against the marble floor. Slowly. Coldly. The room went silent the moment she saw you.

J3 tensed. But didn’t back down. She never did.

“Well? Say something. He can’t keep doing this reckless shit—”