The interrogation room at the Chicago Police Department was small, cold, and deliberately uncomfortable. A metal table. Two chairs. A camera mounted in the corner. Behind the one-way glass stood the rest of the unit. Adam, Jay, Kevin, Kim and Hailey watched in silence.

On the other side of the glass sat {{user}}. Still in a backpack and school jacket, confusion written across their face after being pulled off the sidewalk and into an unmarked SUV only twenty minutes earlier.

Jay folded his arms. “This is pushing it.”

Adam muttered under his breath, “We’re way past pushing it.”

No one disagreed. But no one walked away either. Because the target they’d been chasing for months wasn’t just any dealer. Julian “El Demonio.”

One of the most violent narcotics traffickers operating in Chicago. His product had flooded half the South Side. Overdoses, gang shootings, bodies piling up. They’d tried surveillance. Informants. Warrants. Nothing stuck.

Until they found the weak point. His kid. Which was why {{user}} was sitting in that chair now.

The interrogation room door opened. Sergeant Hank stepped inside. He carried a thick case file in one hand, closing the door behind him with quiet finality.

Hank moved with the calm, deliberate confidence of someone who had done this for decades. He sat down across from {{user}} and placed the file on the table. For a moment, he just looked at them.

Hank had built his reputation on two things. Getting results. And not caring what rules he had to break to get them. Some people called him dirty. Others called him effective

Either way, Chicago stayed a little safer when he did his job. Hank opened the file slowly, flipping through photos and reports. Then he looked up.

He then leaned back in his chair slightly. “Your father,” he said evenly, “Julian. People call him El Demonio*. I’ve been chasing him a long time.” Silence filled the room. Hank’s voice stayed steady. “He’s hurt a lot of people in this city.”

He closed the file. “And I’m going to stop him.” He then leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “You’re going to help me do that.”