18 YEARS LATER

New York is a thriving city in the body of America. It is known for being a financial, media, and entertainment capital. This magnificent city encompasses five boroughs that lie on the Hudson River. Its influence from the Hudson River is so significant that it even reaches the Atlantic Ocean.

Those touched by a burning passion to fulfill their dreams, or those who desire to feast their eyes on the glamour that is New York, eventually migrate there. Once they've tasted the sweet dew dripping off from the honeycomb, they realize the price they must pay before leaving the city, and that is the fact that they can never leave unless they are ready to be burdened by nostalgic memories.

New York is also home to one of the most prominent men, Samuel Anthony Austin. He is the son of the great Jeffery Anthony Austin. Jeffery Austin is regarded as an influential businessman around the world. He founded Austin Industries, a company specializing in making and providing the U.S. military with equipped, artificial arsenals. Sadly enough, Sam received a text from his butler about his father's dire condition. Therefore, he had to cancel his plans from Tokyo and rush back to the blue city.

A beautiful white jet landed on the tarmac of the airstrip. The plane had a logo titled 'Austin Industries' printed on its tail. When the aircraft door opened, Sam stepped out of it and walked down the stairs. He spotted a white tuxedo with white shoes. He wore a white flap pocket blazer with a rose sticking out from his breast pocket. His hair was brushed forward and pushed up in a voluminous form called a quiff cut.

When his feet touched the ground, he walked forward and came in contact with Jonathan, Jason, Reeves. Jonathan was his butler. He wore a set of glasses and had a tapered haircut.

Unlike his father, Sam had a close bond with Jonathan. Jonathan took care of him while his father was busy with work. You could say that Jonathan played a fatherly role in his life. This was evident when his mother passed away at a young age. Then, that's when Sam needed his father the most.

However, his father was not, and he was burdened by grief. It got to a point where he isolated himself from everyone else. Fortunately, Jonathan covered for him and counseled his son. Even though Sam's relationship with his father wasn't all flowers and roses, that didn't mean that they never had a bond. From time to time, Jeffery would spend quality time with his son as they'd travel around the world and visit many illustrious cities.

The two shook hands. They then enveloped one another with a tight embrace.

"Mr. Austin, I am thrilled to see you," said Jonathan, who patted his back. "It's good to see you, Jonathan," he replied sorrowfully.

"It's ok. I understand that you're troubled by your father's situation. However, you have to remain strong." He nodded as the two stopped hugging and got inside a black limousine.

************

When they arrived at the hospital, the nurse led them to his ward. When they got there, they found him coughing. With each cough, it became more difficult for him to breathe. Who could've thought that the great Jeffery Austin would be on the verge of death? The troubling implication about death is that it will knock on your door, regardless of your wealth and social status. Well, that was his case, as his life was leaning on a machine, life support.

Sam sat beside him while he slowly stretched his hand towards him. He held his hand and inquired, "How are you feeling?"

He coughed once more before speaking, "I've been better. However, I don't think I have much time left."

A tear stained his right cheek.

"No, please, don't say that. There is still hope. You've always told me to hold on to hope and never let it go!" He pleaded with desperation as he gently pressed his father's hand.

"Yes, that is true, but we've had this coming for a long time. We've only found out about my lung cancer at its latest stage..." He replied with a smile. It was strange that Mr. Austin was smiling at his deathbed, having accepted his fate. Not many would have the courage to smile, even on the verge of death.

"It's ok, son, I will be fine. I'm only going to a better place, paradise. You don't have anything to worry about. I will be at peace."

His father stretched his hand towards the headboard and grabbed a USB. He then placed it in his son's hands.

Sam looked down and glanced at the device while he shed more tears.

"What is this?" He softly asked.

"I put the company's logistics in this USB."

"Dad, but I can't..." His father interrupted while he spoke.

"Take care of my legacy, son. Please promise me that you will take care of it." He pleaded while tightening his grip around his hands.

For a while, Sam glanced down to face the floor. He felt unworthy of taking his father's company by the helm. Not only that, but a cloud of doubts clouded his head, trying to discourage him from taking what was rightfully his. What if he failed? What if he wasn't good enough to make informed decisions? These thoughts took his mind captive. However, he had to believe and trust that he would not fail. He had the blood of his father running through his veins. For this reason, he realized that he was bred for success.

He looked up to face him and nodded. "I promise to walk in your footsteps and take care of your legacy."

"Thank you, son, thank you," replied his father. At that moment, the machine klaxoned repeatedly. Fearing that he might lose his father, he stormed out of the room and yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Doctors! Doctors! Please help!"

The medical staff swiftly rushed to his aid and entered the ward. They inspected him and checked his pulse and breathing. When they realized that his body failed to give any of the responses, they electro-shocked him. However, even that was unable to bring him back to consciousness.

After some time, Sam and Jonathan sat outside Jeffery's ward, waiting anxiously. The nurse walked out of the compartment and approached them. Her demeanor was all but troubling. Instead of walking casually, she strolled to them with her head facing the floor. Although that was the case, Sam refused to believe his father passed on. In response, he stood up with haste and had a smile carved on his face.

The nurse looked up to face him and gently apologized, "I'm sorry, Mr. Austin, but your father has passed on."

Those earth, shattering words broke him inside out. He didn't know how to digest this news. Jonathan tried to counsel him, but he wandered to the restroom and wept there.

Since the passing of his father, Sam had not been in good condition. He abstained from food and refused to talk to anyone. He sobbed and mourned for him throughout the week. Only after the burial did he decide to stop crying and move on to pressing matters, his father's legacy.

One night, Sam was inside his bedroom and was sitting behind his desk, immersed in his thoughts. He then caught a glimpse of the USB that his father gave to him and grabbed it. When he looked at the surface of his desk, there lay a USB port. He inserted the device through the port, and the desk emitted a blue light when he did so. After that, a holographic screen emerged. The screen mirrored that of a laptop. In the middle of the screen, he saw two folders.

The first folder was titled "Austin Industries," and the other was titled "For Sam."

He pressed the first folder and saw the company's manifestos, projects, marketing strategies, services, and military contracts with the government.

When he reviewed the folder, he got out and pressed the next one with his name on it. Suddenly, a video footage of his father began playing. Based on the video's quality, it was recorded nearly a decade ago.

"Hi, Sam, it's me, your father. If you're watching this, something must've happened to me, and I could not tell you the truth. The truth about your life."

For a brief moment, he rubbed his hands and sighed, "Well, here goes nothing," he said anxiously.

"This might come as a shock to you, but I'm not your real father. Not only that, but you are also not from this world. This means that you are not human."

Jeffery then moved to the side, and behind him stood a space pod. He directed his hand toward the aircraft and continued.

"I know this is a shock to you, and I am very sorry for lying to you. The reason that your mother and I kept this from you was so that we could protect you from the truth. Even if you don't find it in your heart to forgive me, I apologize once more. I am so sorry." He said.

A stream of tears raced down Jeffery's cheeks. He then continued, although this was a hard thing to do on his side, he had to soldier on.

"You have a family out there, and I believe you owe it yourself to go and find them. No matter what happens, please remember this. That is the fact that you will always be my son."

The moment that the video footage stopped playing was the moment that he broke down. Burdened by a daunting revelation that he wished he had known before now.

**************

Dallas, TX

A group of bikers drove off to a local bar. Upon arriving there, they parked their motorcycles in front of the facade of the building.

This group of men was known as the Road Hogs. They terrorized each bar they went to; they traveled in a group of four. Once the travesty was completed, whatever bar they oppressed became a part of their territories. Even the police shuddered at the name of the Road Hogs. They were like demons, causing destruction wherever they went and found pleasure in their misconducts. Furthermore, the more territories they claimed, their list of allies stretched.

The gang leader went by the name of Marshall, a tall leaner biker with long dashing hair. His right-hand man was Dasher, who had short, spiked, trimmed hair. The third member was Blob, the biggest of the four. He had long blond hair and a daring potbelly bobbing out of his shirt. The last member of the gang was Damian. He was the strongest of the four. Each of them donned a tattoo of a warthog on their right arm.

They climbed off their motorcycles and wrapped their arms around their maiden's waists. They sauntered inside the bar, and everyone fixed their eyes on them the moment they got in. The mighty four graced them with their deadly presence, striking fear in their hearts without laying a finger. With each step, the surrounding masses followed them with their gaze as if hauled in by a magnetic field. That included the bartender, who couldn't take his eyes off them while he dried a glass with a white cloth.

In front of the bartender sat a man. He wore a cowboy hat and spotted a boxed beard. His physical stature was burly as he comprised a valley of biceps pushing against his sleeve. A tapestry of tattoos painted his muscles and the entire right arm area. He hurriedly drank a glass of whisky despite the product's bitterness.

The other three bikers sat beside him while Marshall stood behind him with a grimace. He lightly tapped on his right shoulder and said, "Hey punk, you are sitting on my chair! Piss off, will you!"

The man in a cowboy hat took another sip and placed the glass on the counter. Without turning to face Marshall, he replied calmly, "First come, first serve, Jack ass. Didn't they teach you manners in kindergarten?"

The customers from behind gasped in horror while Marshall and his gang scoffed at him.

"Who does this clown take us for? I'm guessing that he doesn't know who runs these turfs ey? Listen here, you piece of shit, We're the Road hogs! If you want to be castrated? Then that ain't a problem for us. We will cut your dangling scallywags off you right now!"

"Tell that to someone who cares," he taunted.

At that moment, his insults bruised his ego. Never before has Marshall thought someone would stand up to him. As a result, he began boiling with anger as his face morphed into a searing, red pigment.

"I hope you said your prayers, boy, because you will leave this place in a casket!"

Marshall took a pistol from his pocket and centered the mechanism at the back of his head. The man instantly grabbed his wrist when he was about to pull the trigger. He then contorted Marshall's arm and hoisted him above his head til his body collided with the table counter.

Everyone was gobsmacked, unable to comprehend what they had seen. The mysterious man arose from his chair and dusted himself.

"All in a day's work," he scoffed as he handed the bartender a cash roll.

"Sorry for the mess," he apologized before leaving. Then suddenly, Damian grabbed his shoulder and firmed his grip around it. The man grabbed his hand from behind and shattered his bones to shards by adding pressure to his grasp.

Damian's knees kissed the ground as he yelped in anguish, "Aah! I'm so sorry, have mercy! I beg of you!" He pleaded.

The man turned around to face the remaining gang members, "Oh, and just so you know, the name's Dan. Here is my address. I live on a farm in Carrollton. You can't miss it. I'll be waiting." He stated casually, as a smirk crept out from his lips.

Dan walked out of the bar and got inside his micro-truck. When he got inside, he removed his hat and gently placed a wheat straw between his lips. He then drove back to his farm.

When he got there, he parked the vehicle inside the garage. Before entering the house, he checked the mail and took out five envelopes. He directed his attention to a brown envelope which was a letter from the estate agents. They threatened to repossess his farm after failing to pay his installments. He ripped it in half and got inside the house. He went to the dining room and saw a picture of himself as a child resting on his father's shoulders.

He gently took the picture and grinned at it. A series of memories graced his mind, taking him back to his nostalgic moments when he was but a child. The number of times he'd plow through the fields with his father or when he would help his mother with cooking in the kitchen. The farm meant the world to him and his family.

"You were the best thing that happened to me. I promise this; no one will take this farm from me."