The cold Genoa City night shattered the moment a panicked cry sliced through the silence—“Oh my God… someone’s dead!” What should have been a quiet walk behind the coffeehouse had spiraled into a horrifying ordeal for Nick Newman and Matt Young, their peaceful evening derailed in seconds by a figure lurking in the alley’s shadows.

Neither of them sensed danger at first. Nick, who’d survived decades of drama and threats in Genoa City, usually picked up on trouble long before it arrived. But this time the threat moved with ghostlike stealth—no footsteps, no warning, just a chilling presence that crept up behind them with the weight of something sinister. Matt, still vulnerable from past trauma, felt his stomach twist with dread as the figure approached, illuminated only by the jittery glow of a dying streetlamp overhead.

Then the attack erupted.

The stranger lunged without a word, swinging a metallic object that instantly transformed the alley into a battleground. The weapon glimmered under the flickering light, and its slicing movement became a sound Matt knew he’d hear in nightmares for years. Matt dropped to the pavement, breath knocked out of him, while Nick tried to jump in front, driven by raw instinct to protect him.

But the attacker fought with frightening accuracy, as if this moment had been practiced over and over. Nick felt a searing pain rip across his shoulder before he crashed into a dumpster. Blood coated his tongue as he tried to push himself up again, only to be shoved back down by a strength that felt unnatural—less human and more fueled by hatred or desperation.

Nick instantly realized this wasn’t a mugging. Someone had planned this. Someone had sent this man.

Matt’s terrified scream echoed off the brick walls as the stranger gripped him, leaned down, and whispered something faint—but chilling enough to brand itself into Matt’s memory: “He wants you to remember.” Before Nick could react, the stranger shifted his aim and slammed the weapon downward—not at Matt, but at something lying in the darkness beside them.

A body.

Hidden between two dumpsters, unseen until that exact moment. A dead man already long beyond saving.

Matt, gasping for air, was the first to choke out the words now burning through the entire city: “Oh my God, someone’s dead!”

The attacker didn’t run. He stood over the corpse, breathing hard, then kicked Nick in the ribs as he tried to rise again. Seconds later, he slid backward into the shadows and vanished—silent, smooth, terrifyingly calm.

When he disappeared, reality snapped back into place. Nick crawled to Matt, grounding him as he hyperventilated. The dead man lay twisted unnaturally, clothes torn, lifeless long before Nick and Matt had entered the alley. Why leave the body? Why ambush them? Why that whisper?

Matt shakily dialed 911 while Nick fought dizziness as adrenaline drained from his system. Sirens soon wailed in the distance, but an icy realization settled over Nick: whoever orchestrated this knew their location and wanted them to find this body. Wanted Matt to remember something buried deep in his past.

Police and EMTs rushed in; officers separated the two for questioning. But the real shock arrived when detectives lifted the sheet from the corpse. A symbol carved into the victim’s wrist caught Matt’s eye—a symbol he recognized from broken childhood memories. A symbol tied to a figure who once hunted him.

Someone from his past had resurfaced.

Nick took Matt straight to the Newman ranch. Victor was waiting, already sensing danger like he always did. When Matt described the symbol, Victor’s expression shifted—barely noticeable, but unmistakable to Nick. Victor knew something.

After getting Matt settled under guards’ watch, Victor finally revealed fragments of the truth. Years ago, he explained, a man operated outside Genoa City—a leader with devoted followers, people branded like property. If Matt had escaped this group as a child, they might believe he still belonged to them.

Nick’s blood ran cold. Whoever attacked them wasn’t just violent—they were connected to a larger network, maybe even a cult, one that didn’t tolerate loose ends.

Meanwhile, alone in his room, Matt sketched the symbol shakingly. As he stared at it, pieces of memory clawed back: a hand gripping his arm, a voice whispering, “You are mine.” And with that, Matt knew the truth.

Someone from his darkest past was coming for him.

And tonight’s attack was only the beginning.