Walker: Legacy of Justice

The road to Elmont twisted through low hills and heavy pine, the silence between Angela and Rafael thick with focus. The closer they got, the more the world seemed to quiet. Birds stopped singing. No cars passed them. Even the wind felt like it was holding its breath.

The old ranch appeared through the trees like a ghost—weathered cabins, a half-collapsed mess hall, and an old water tower looming like a watchful eye. Faded signs still read Camp Hollow Creek in peeling paint.

Angela parked the truck behind a thicket and killed the engine.

“No cell signal,” Rafael muttered. “This place is a dead zone.”

Angela checked her sidearm, then scanned the perimeter through binoculars. “One generator running. Light activity. No obvious guards, but someone’s in there.”

They moved in low and quiet, weaving through brush and shadows. Rafael pointed toward one of the cabins. A dim light flickered through the cracks.

Angela signaled. They circled around and slipped in through the back.

Inside, it was surprisingly clean. Bunks with neatly folded blankets. A table stacked with spiral-bound notebooks, most with strange symbols drawn across every page. And in the corner—video equipment. Cameras, hard drives, a monitor showing live feeds from around the camp.

“They’re documenting everything,” Rafael whispered. “Like a twisted study group.”

Angela moved to the footage. One screen showed Eva—sitting in a room alone, expression flat. No restraints. Just still. Waiting.

Angela reached for her radio. “We’ve got eyes on her. No guards in the room.”

Before she could speak again, a voice echoed behind them.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

They spun around, weapons drawn.

A man stepped from the shadows—calm, clean-cut, mid-40s. He wore a dark suit jacket over a simple black shirt. A small silver pin glinted on his collar: the symbol of The Circle.

“No need for violence,” he said, hands raised. “You’re Angela Walker. And I’ve been expecting you.”

Angela didn’t lower her weapon. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me where Eva Delgado is.”

“She’s safe,” he replied smoothly. “For now. But you’re focusing on the wrong thing, Ranger. This isn’t about her. It’s about you.”

Rafael narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? Try again.”

The man smiled, unshaken. “We’ve been watching you for a while, Angela. The daughter of the man who tore us down. You carry his legacy—but not his blindness. You see the cracks in the world. You feel the decay.”

Angela stepped forward, fury in her voice. “I see people being taken and used. That’s what I see.”

He tilted his head. “We don’t use them. We free them. From pain, from confusion. Eva came willingly, because she saw something in us she never found in your system.”

Angela’s grip tightened on her weapon.

“And when she wants to leave?”

His eyes darkened.

“She won’t.”

A flashbang dropped through the window before either of them could react.

The room exploded in light and sound—Angela and Rafael hit the floor, ears ringing. By the time they recovered, the man was gone—and so was the camera feed.

Angela staggered to her feet. “They’re moving her.”

“Then we move faster,” Rafael growled, helping her up.

They raced out of the cabin and across the clearing. One of the vans was just pulling out of a camouflaged garage. Angela fired two shots at the tires—one struck true. The van veered, skidded into a fence, and stopped.

By the time they reached it, the back was empty.

Angela opened the rear doors.

Only one thing remained inside: Eva’s scarf. Folded neatly. Like a goodbye.

Back at the truck, Angela sat in the driver’s seat, jaw tight.

“We were seconds too late.”

Rafael nodded. “But we saw them. We got a face. That’s something.”

Angela stared down at the scarf in her hands. “They’re not just a cult. They’re organized. Funded. And they knew we were coming.”

Rafael leaned back. “Then someone’s feeding them information.”

Angela looked at him sharply.

“You think there’s a leak?”

“I think this goes higher than a ghost town cult revival.”

She turned the ignition and pulled back onto the road, the weight of the scarf in her lap and the fire building behind her eyes.

“We’re not stopping,” she said. “Not until we burn this whole operation to the ground.”