Trevor Brock - The Savage

 Trevor Brock: The Savage

2nd Edition 

The Savage

I rode the bus into Houston, Texas, with a sense of vengeance and justice.

It had been two months since Allison's death, and I had spent every waking moment since then preparing for this moment.

I had spent six years in the military, honing my skills as a sniper and a fighter, and I had also spent years studying the law.

I knew that the men who had killed Allison were still out there, and I knew that they would never be brought to justice if I didn't do something about it.

I had spent months tracking them down, following every lead, every tip, every rumor.

Finally, after all of my hard work, I had found them.

They were living in Houston, Texas, and they were working at a local bar.

Now it was time for me to take action.

I got off of the bus and walked to the nearest payphone.

I called a local taxi company and told them where I was.

They told me that someone would be there in ten minutes to pick me up.

I hung up the phone and walked over to a nearby bench.

I sat down and waited for my ride to arrive.

As I sat there, I couldn't help but think about Allison.

She was a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

The only woman I'd ever intimately known, the love of my life, the dream, like my life was shattered.

Allison had meant more than intimacy and passion that burned like a wildfire.

She was my best friend, confident, and losing her was like losing a family member or someone meaningful to your life.

I had revealed my deepest desires and darkest secrets to her.

Trevor wasn't afraid of anything; I wasn't afraid to die, in fact I welcomed it in many ways. 

It didn't matter; in many ways my life had ended when Kyle's body was blown apart like bowling pins after a strike.

However, my body still had power hooked up to it, and I might as well go through with my original plan to wipe these streets clean of the type that did me in.

The drug pushers and dealers.

Those hurting their children robbing them of a decent life.

The bar was crowded, but I didn't see Allison's killers anywhere.

I walked over to the bar and ordered a beer from the bartender.

As I waited for my beer, I looked around at all of the people who were inside of the bar.

There were men and women of all ages, but none of them looked like they were dangerous.

They all looked like normal people who were just out looking for a good time.

But then I saw them; Allison's killers were sitting in the corner of the bar, laughing and joking with each other.

They didn't look like they had a care in the world, but that was about to change.

I took my beer from the bartender and walked over to their table.

"Hello," I said as I approached them.

They looked up at me with a mixture of confusion and anger on their faces.

"Can we help you?" one of them asked me.

"Yes," I told him. "You can tell me why you killed my girlfriend."

Their faces changed from confusion and anger to shock and fear as they realized who I was and why I was there.

They knew that they had been caught, and they knew that they were going to have to pay for what they had done to Allison.

One of them stood up from his chair, ready to fight me, but I wasn't afraid of him or his friends.

I had a knife hidden in my boot, and I was ready to use it if I had to.

I had spent years in the military, and I knew how to fight.

I was a skilled sniper, and I was also skilled in hand-to-hand combat.

I had been in tougher situations before, and I had always come out on top.

But I wasn't here to fight; I was here to get revenge.

I was here to make sure that Allison's killers paid for what they had done to her.

"You're the one who killed my girlfriend," I told them. "You're the one who raped her and strangled her to death."

They looked at each other nervously, but they didn't say anything.

They knew that they were caught, and they knew that they were going to have to pay for what they had done.

"You're going to have to pay for what you did," I told them. "You're going to have to pay for killing my girlfriend."

They looked at each other again, and then one of them stood up from his chair.

He was a big man with a mean look on his face.

He was the one who had killed Allison, and he was the one who was going to have to pay for it.

"You're not going to do anything," he told me. "You're not going to hurt us."

He took a step towards me, but I didn't back down.

I stood my ground and looked him straight in the eye.

"I'm going to hurt you," I told him. "I'm going to make you pay for what you did to Allison."

He looked at me with a mixture of anger and fear on his face, but he didn't back down either.

He kept coming towards me, ready to fight me, but I wasn't afraid of him.

I had been in tougher situations before, and I had always come out on top.

I reached down into my boot and pulled out my knife.

It was a sharp blade that would cut through anything, and it would be perfect for killing Allison's killers.

The man stopped in his tracks as he saw the knife in my hand.

He looked at me with fear in his eyes, but he didn't back down.

He kept coming towards me, ready to fight me, but I wasn't afraid of him.

I attacked him with my knife, stabbing him in the chest and then in the stomach.

He let out a loud cry of pain as he fell to the ground, but I didn't stop there.

I kept stabbing him until he was dead, and then I turned my attention to his friends.

They were running away from me, but I caught up to them quickly.

I stabbed one of them in the back and then in the chest, and then I turned my attention to the other one.

He was trying to run away, but I caught up to him quickly.

I stabbed him in the back and then in the chest, and then I turned my attention to the last one.

He was hiding behind a dumpster, but I found him quickly.

I stabbed him in the back and then in the chest, and then I stood up over his body.

I looked down at all of Allison's killers, lying on the ground in front of me.

They were all dead, and they would never be able to hurt anyone else again.

I felt a sense of satisfaction as I looked at their bodies.

I had finally gotten my revenge for Allison's death, and I had finally brought justice to those who had wronged her.

I stood there for a few minutes, looking at their bodies, and then I walked away.

I walked back to the bus station and got on a bus. 

As we drove away from Houston, Texas, I couldn't help but think about all the people who needed help. Those who couldn't get results. 

They had left her body in a shallow grave, like she was nothing more than a piece of trash.

And they had gotten away with it, at least until I had come along.

I had made them pay for what they had done to Allison, and I had brought justice to those who had wronged her.

But as I sat on the bus, looking out the window at the passing countryside, I couldn't help but think about all of the other people who were out there, hurting innocent people and getting away with it.

I thought about all of the drug dealers who were selling drugs to kids, and all of the child abusers who were hurting children.

I thought about all of the rapists who were raping women, and all of the murderers who were killing innocent people.

And I thought about how they were all getting away with it.

They were all getting away with their crimes, and they were all still out there, free to hurt other people.

I realized that killing Allison's killers hadn't brought me peace; it had only brought me more questions about justice and morality.

It had only made me realize that there were so many other people out there who needed to be punished for their crimes.

And it had made me realize that I wanted to be the one to punish them.

I wanted to be a vigilante, fighting against crime and bringing justice to those who had been wronged.

I wanted to be a hero, fighting against evil and protecting the innocent.

And as I sat on the bus, looking out the window at the passing countryside, I knew that I was going to do just that.

I was going to continue my vigilante work, targeting drug dealers and child abusers and other criminals in Houston.

I was going to make sure that they paid for their crimes, and I was going to make sure that they never hurt anyone else again.

I knew what I wanted to do, and I knew how I was going to do it.

I was going to make a difference in this city, and I was going to make sure that justice was served.

I got off of the bus and walked through the city streets, looking around at all of the tall buildings and crowded sidewalks.

The city was alive with activity, but I didn't see anything out of place.

There were no signs of crime or violence anywhere, but I knew that it was there lurking beneath the surface.

I knew that there were drug dealers selling drugs on every corner, and child abusers hurting children in every neighborhood.

And I knew that there were rapists raping women in every part of town.

But I also knew that I was going to stop them; I was going to make sure that they paid for their crimes.

As I walked through the city streets, looking around at all of the tall buildings and crowded sidewalks, I couldn't help but feel a sense of purpose and drive.

I knew what I wanted to do, and I knew how I was going to do it.

I was going to make a difference in this city, and I was going to make sure that justice was served.

Detective Jameson Reed sat at his desk in his office at police headquarters in Houston, Texas.

He was looking over a stack of files on his desk when his phone rang on his desk next to him.

He picked it up and answered it.

"Detective Reed," he said.

"Detective, we have a situation," a voice said on the other end of the line.

"What is it?" he asked.

"We have a string of vigilante killings in the city," the voice said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We have five bodies, all of them killed with a knife," the voice said.

"And they're all drug dealers and child abusers," the voice added.

"Who did it?" he asked.

"We don't know," the voice said. "But we do know that it's the same guy who killed those thugs last week."

"Okay, I'll be right there," he said.

He hung up the phone and stood up from his desk.

He walked out of his office and down the hallway to his car in the parking lot outside.

He got into his car and started the engine, then drove to the crime scene in downtown Houston.

When he arrived, he saw a group of police officers standing around a body on the ground.

He got out of his car and walked over to them, looking down at the body on the ground.

It was a man with a knife sticking out of his chest, and he was lying in a pool of blood on the ground.

"Who is it?" he asked one of the officers standing next to him.

"It's a drug dealer," the officer said. "One of the worst in the city."

He looked around at all of the other bodies on the ground, seeing that they were all drug dealers and child abusers.

He knew that this was the work of a vigilante, someone who was taking the law into their own hands and killing criminals.

He had seen it before in other cities, but he had never seen it in Houston.

He didn't know what to make of it, but he knew that he had to stop it.

He couldn't let some vigilante run around the city, killing people at will.

He had to catch the guy and bring him to justice.

But as he looked around at all of the bodies on the ground, he couldn't help but think that maybe this vigilante was doing something good.

Maybe he was bringing justice to those who had been wronged, and maybe he was making the city a safer place.

He didn't know, but he knew that he had to stop him.

He couldn't let anyone take the law into their own hands, no matter what their motives were.

He walked over to one of the officers standing next to him and asked him if they had any leads on the case.

The officer shook his head and said that they didn't have anything yet.

Reed nodded and then walked back to his car.

He got in and started the engine, then drove back to police headquarters.

When he arrived, he went into his office and sat down at his desk.

He looked over all of the evidence from the crime scene, but there wasn't much to go on.

There were no fingerprints or DNA evidence, and there were no witnesses who had seen anything.

It was like the killer had vanished into thin air after committing his crimes.

Reed sighed and rubbed his temples with his fingers.

He didn't know what to do; he didn't know how to catch this guy.

He thought about using the media to lure him out into the open, but he didn't know if that would work.

He thought about setting up a sting operation, but he didn't know if that would work either.

He was at a loss for what to do, and he didn't know how to catch this guy.

As he sat at his desk, looking over all of the evidence from the crime scene, he couldn't help but think about the vigilante's motives.

Why was he killing these people?

Was it for revenge, or was it for justice?

Reed didn't know, but he knew that he had to find out.

He had to figure out why this guy was doing what he was doing, and then he had to stop him.

He couldn't let him continue to kill people in the city; he had to bring him to justice.

But as he sat at his desk, looking over all of the evidence from the crime scene, Reed couldn't help but wonder if this vigilante was really doing anything wrong.

Was it really wrong to kill drug dealers and child abusers?

Was it really wrong to bring justice to those who had been wronged?

Reed didn't know, but he knew that he had to stop him.

The media started to call him "The Savage," and the public was both terrified and fascinated by him.

Some people thought that he was a monster, while others thought that he was a hero.

Reed didn't know what to think; he just knew that he had to stop him.

As the body count continued to rise, Reed became increasingly torn about what to do.

He knew that he had to stop The Savage, but he couldn't help but wonder if he was really doing anything wrong.

Was it really wrong to kill drug dealers and child abusers?

Was it really wrong to bring justice to those who had been wronged?

Reed didn't know, but he knew that he had to stop him.

He couldn't let anyone take the law into their own hands, no matter what their motives were.

He had to bring The Savage to justice, and then he had to figure out if he was really guilty of anything.

As the days went by, The Savage continued his killing spree, targeting drug dealers and child abusers all over the city.

Reed tried everything he could think of to catch him, but nothing seemed to work.

He set up sting operations and laid traps for him, but The Savage always managed to evade them.

He even went on TV and asked for the public's help in catching him, but no one came forward with any information.

It was like The Savage was a ghost, a phantom who appeared out of nowhere and then disappeared again without a trace.

Reed was at a loss for what to do; he didn't know how to catch this guy.

He sat at his desk every day, looking over all of the evidence from the crime scenes and trying to come up with a plan.

But no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to catch a break.

The Savage always managed to stay one step ahead of him, and Reed didn't know how much longer he could keep this up.

He was starting to get frustrated and angry; he wanted to catch this guy and bring him to justice.

But as the days went by, Reed started to wonder if that was really what he wanted.

Did he really want to catch The Savage and bring him to justice?

Or did he want something else?

Detective Jameson Reed arrived at the crime scene a few minutes later, surveying the carnage with a mix of horror and reluctant admiration.

The Savage had struck again, taking out four drug dealers in one hit.

Reed walked through the area, looking at all of the bodies on the ground.

The Savage was brutal and efficient, taking out his targets quickly and silently.

Reed couldn't help but admire his skill, even though he knew that he had to catch him.

He knew that Detective Jameson Reed was on his trail, and he had to get out of Houston before he got caught.

Trevor packed his bags and left town, heading west to Los Angeles.

He hoped to lose himself in the crowded city, and maybe even find a way to disappear for good.

Trevor had heard of a private investigator in LA who was known for his discretion.

Jim Rockford was his name, and he was rumored to be able to find out anything about anyone.

Trevor hoped that Rockford could provide him with some information about Reed's investigation, or maybe even help him disappear.

He went to Rockford's trailer in Malibu, hoping to find him at home.

Rockford answered the door, looking like a hippie from the sixties with his long hair and mustache.

"What can I do for you?" he asked Trevor.

"I need some information," Trevor replied.

"I'm looking for someone. He's a cop from Houston, and I want to know what he's doing."

Rockford looked at Trevor with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"What makes you think I can help you?"he asked.

The two men discussed Trevor's abilities and Jim wondered, but needed a job done. 

"I might have a job for you," he said after a moment.

"There's a guy I've been looking for. He's a drug lord, and he's been causing some problems for me. 

If you can find him and take him out, I'll get you a new identity."

Trevor hesitated, weighing the risk against his need for freedom.

He didn't know if he could trust Rockford, but he had no other options.

The promise of a fresh start was tempting, and it aligned with his mission.

He was going to take out as many drug dealers as he could anyway; this was just a way to get paid for it.

"Okay," Trevor said finally, extending his hand to seal the deal.

Rockford smiled, shaking Trevor's hand firmly.

"Good choice," he said, handing Trevor a file.

"This is the guy I'm looking for. He's been causing some problems in my neighborhood, and I want him gone."

Trevor opened the file and studied it, looking at the picture of the drug lord.

He was a ruthless man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

Trevor knew that he was no different, and that gave him an idea.

"Is this guy good at what he does?" Trevor asked Rockford.

"He's the best," Rockford replied.

"He's been in business for years, and he's never been caught. I don't know how he does it, but he's always one step ahead of the law."

Trevor nodded thoughtfully, wondering if this was the kind of guy who could help him disappear.

He had to admit that he was intrigued by the idea of working with a professional.

Maybe this was the way to go; maybe this was how he could finally get out of this life for good.

"I'll take care of him," Trevor said finally, standing up to leave.

Rockford looked at him seriously, warning him about the dangers of taking on this guy.

Trevor knew this would convince Jim to pay him well. Since this tough guy had eluded the great Jim Rockford.

Jimmy could have the fame. Trevor wanted any extra attention. Merely just blending in. 

He had heard that LA was a city that was run by gangs and drug dealers, and he wanted to show them who was boss.

Trevor had been tracking a notorious drug lord for days, a man who was known for his cruelty and ruthlessness.

He finally found him in an alley off 5th Street, standing in the shadows like a ghost.

The air was thick with tension as Trevor approached him, his eyes locked on the man's face.

"You're the one they call El Diablo," Trevor said, his voice low and menacing.

The drug lord looked at him with a mixture of surprise and amusement, clearly underestimating Trevor's resolve.

"And who are you?" he asked, sneering at him.

"I'm the Savage," Trevor replied, his fists clenched at his sides."I've been looking for you."

El Diablo laughed, clearly not intimidated by Trevor's threat.

"You're just a fool," he said, pulling out a gun and pointing it at Trevor's head.

Trevor didn't flinch as he looked down the barrel of the gun.

He had been in this situation before, and he knew how to get out of it.

With swift precision, Trevor lunged at El Diablo, disarming him and sending the gun flying out of his hand.

Trevor struck twice with his blade, watching as El Diablo fell to the ground.

As Trevor stepped back, he noticed a large bag of diamonds spilling from El Diablo's coat onto the grimy alley floor.

The sight surprised Trevor, momentarily breaking his focus.

He had expected to find drugs or money, but not diamonds.

They were worth a fortune, and Trevor knew that they could be his ticket to a new life.

He gathered the scattered gems and stuffed them into his backpack.

His heart raced with adrenaline and opportunity as he looked at the dead body on the ground.

He had never been one for material possessions, but this was different.

Trevor left the alley, blending into the shadows of the city as he made his way back to his hotel room.

He couldn't believe his luck; he had never imagined that taking out a drug lord would give him the means to escape.

Trevor sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the diamonds that were spread out before him.

He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and he couldn't believe that they belonged to him.

He had no intention of keeping them for himself, but he knew that they could be used for a greater good.

Trevor's mind was already racing with the possibilities of what he could do with this newfound wealth.

He could buy better weapons and take out more targets; he could make a real difference in this city.

The thought sent a surge of determination through him, and he knew that this was just the beginning.

Trevor gathered the diamonds and put them in his backpack, deciding that it was time to leave LA behind.

He would go somewhere new and start fresh, using his new wealth to further his mission.

As he walked out of the hotel room, Trevor felt a sense of hope that he hadn't felt in years.

Maybe this was the break he needed to finally make a difference; maybe this was how he would finally be able to change his life for good.

Trevor hailed a taxi and headed to the airport, buying a ticket to Houston, Texas.

He boarded the plane that night, looking for a seat in the back where he could remain anonymous.

As he walked down the aisle, his eyes scanned the passengers for anyone who looked like they might be trouble.

He found an empty seat next to a woman with a weary expression on her face.

She clutched her purse tightly in her lap, glancing around nervously every few seconds.

Trevor sensed her distress and decided to strike up a conversation.

"Is everything okay?" he asked as he sat down next to her.

The woman nodded, her eyes locked on his. As the two of them chatted on the plane ride she opened up . 

"My brother was murdered last year. The cops never found who did it, but I know it was some gangbanger looking to make a name for himself."

Trevor sensed the sincerity in her words, and he knew that she wasn't just saying what she thought he wanted to hear.

"I take care of these kinds of things." Trevor said. 

They traded information, and Trevor assured her that he'd look into her brother's case.

"I'm going to Houston to take out some trash," Trevor said, deciding to trust her.

"My brother's name was Carlos. He was seventeen years old. He was walking home from school when they shot him. The cops said it was a drive-by, but I know they were aiming for him."

The woman's eyes brimmed with tears as she stared at Trevor.

He could see the hope and desperation in her eyes, and he knew that she had been praying for justice for a long time.

"Tell me more," Trevor said, his voice low and smooth.

"What do you know about the gang?"

"They're called the Latin Kings," the woman said.

"They have a few hideouts around town, but they mostly hang out on the corner of 5th and Main. They're usually there at night, and they always have guns."

Trevor nodded, committing the information to memory.

"What about their routines?"

The woman shrugged.

"I don't know. I've never seen them myself. I just know what the cops told me."

Trevor sensed her frustration, and he knew that she felt helpless in this situation.

She wanted justice for her brother, but she didn't know how to get it.

"Yes, ma'am, I will check into it. You have my word on that." 

Trevor Brock exits the plane at Houston International Airport. Where he called a taxi. Trevor knew how to get it. He fully intended on doing that very thing. Revenge was in the humid Houston air.