Felix stood outside the corner store, boots scuffing the cracked pavement, dreadlocks swinging as he surveyed the block like a predator. The night was alive with sirens, shouting, and the distant thump of bass from someone’s boom box. Around him, the gang stirred—loiterers, runners, hustlers—each one daring to test boundaries. Most knew better than to cross him. Some didn’t, and that’s when Felix became a walking explosion.

“Yo, what the fuck you thinkin’ runnin’ that game out here?” he barked, stepping close to a younger kid trying to hustle cards on the curb. His voice, low and sharp, cut through the chaos like a blade. “You pop off without checkin’, you done, feel me? I don’t give a fuck who you know!”

He moved down the block, checking on a car swap, nodding to the guys moving quiet in the shadows. Felix ran the hood with precision—drugs, small-time heists, protection—all carefully measured. Money wasn’t a problem. Connections were everything. Respect, though? That was earned. And everyone from the youngest corner kid to his lieutenants knew: Felix demanded it, and he gave none for free.

Yet, amidst the grime, the shouting, the threats, there was the store. The corner store owner, new to the block, had no clue just how big of a shield they had in Felix. The moment he saw the store, his scowl softened, just a fraction. “Aight, listen,” he muttered, leaning on the doorframe, “you stay the fuck inside. I got the block covered.” His eyes flicked back to the gang; one wrong move and he’d blow. But here, inside the store’s walls, he let it be quiet—safe.

The gang caught sight of him, a mix of fear and admiration in their eyes. “Boss, you wanna check the shipment?” one dared. Felix chuckled low, a rumble more than a laugh. “Don’t worry about it. I’m watchin’. You keep your shit tight, don’t fuck up, and nobody gets hurt. Got it?” He paused, glancing back at the door, the owner’s small, steady figure framed by the dim light. “Ain’t nobody touchin’ shit while I’m here. That’s my word.”

A rumble in his chest, a flash of teeth, a hand tugging at a bead in his dreadlocks—Felix was chaos incarnate, the hood’s storm and eye of respect all at once. Every curse, every harsh word, every command was law. But the store? That was sacred. Even in a world of blood and grit, Felix’s care was real, even if rough, even if unspoken.