I Didn't Kill Him Damn It!!!!

[He once said life's like a big puzzle, and not everyone's got the smarts to put the pieces together.]

Mr. Jones's parting words echoed in Ezekiel's mind as the police burst into the room, fifteen officers filling the space.

 Ezekiel's anguished cry cut through the air, Tears streamed down his face as he desperately sought help from the approaching police officers.

"Good, you guys are here. Someone or something just killed my father," Ezekiel exclaimed, his voice choked with grief.

A skeptical officer responded harshly, "Nice try. You murderer! You killed your own father and want to pin it on someone else."

"What the hell are you talking about? Why the hell would I kill my own father?" Ezekiel retorted, disbelief and shock evident in his voice.

"Ezekiel Jones, you're under arrest for the murder of Christopher Jones," Another police officer announced sternly.

"Wait, what? It wasn't me!" Ezekiel protested, panic taking hold.

"Whatever you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," the officer warned.

"I didn't do it, damn it!" Ezekiel's voice quivered with desperation.

As he faced the daunting situation, Ezekiel recalled Mr. Jones's cautionary words: "Ezekiel, you see, to the people of this country, they know me as Christopher Jones, the wealthy millionaire, and they perceive you and your siblings as my children. But what they don't know is that we run the criminal organization known as CODE. So whatever you do, never let them discover that you are The Shepherd."

The police escort him outside the building as Ezekiel steps out of the building, the unforgiving flash of cameras and eager media outlets seize the moment, casting him into the limelight of suspicion.

"Why did you kill your father? Did you want his money?" a relentless reporter thrusts a microphone toward Ezekiel's incredulous face.

"What? Are you out of your mind? why the hell would I kill my own father! I had nothing to do with this! Get that damn camera out of my face!" Ezekiel's fury erupts, a volatile mixture of disbelief and anger.

The police, acting on their prior knowledge, escort him away, sealing his fate within the confines of their patrol car. One officer remarks, "It's a good thing we got the heads-up; otherwise, he might have escaped."

Meanwhile, in the clandestine depths of an underground hideout, a young boy with emerald hair and green eyes strides into a room occupied by another boy, his fiery red hair and eyes betraying an air of intensity.

"Did you see this, Kemar?" the green-haired boy, Calliou Jones, queries, displaying his phone with a video of Ezekiel. [Calliou Jones, also known as Jazzbow, is one of the 6 commandants of the criminal organization CODE.]

"What?" the red-haired boy, responds. [Kemar Jones Aka BOB one of the 6 commandant of the criminal organization CODE]

"Ten minutes ago. He's being taken to the police station," Calliou reveals.

A man, clad entirely in black, enters the room, concern etched on his face. "Sirs, did you see what happened? Do you think Sir Ezekiel really did it?" he inquires.

Kemar's gaze narrows menacingly, while Calliou acts decisively, swiftly silencing the man with a gunshot to the head. "There's no way Ezekiel would kill Father," Calliou asserts.

"Get the bikes ready," Kemar orders.

"Don't order me around, damn it," Calliou retorts, the tension in the room thickening with the unfolding events.

[Ezekiel]

I had been framed, but by whom? Who was that mysterious man wearing the black mask? Was he wasn't a normal human, is he a trinity or a special human? Wait a minute the office cameras, even though the office cameras could potentially expose the truth about us but it will prove that I'm innocent I have to make the authorities aware of this. Ezekiel thinks to himself.

"The camera in the building holds the proof of my innocence! I didn't do anything!" Ezekiel urgently imparts to the police, his voice laden with desperation and the urgency of vindication.

"I see. We will check it out once we reach the police station," reassures one of the officers, a glimmer of hope present in his tone.

Abruptly, a mysterious figure on a motorcycle, helmet concealing identity, positions themselves defiantly in front of the police car. Brakes screech as the officers attempt to comprehend the unfolding chaos.

Another silhouette on a bike, also donned in a helmet, approaches the window with rhythmic knocks to capture attention. "Gun or ability?" questions Kemar, his words hanging in the air, laden with an ominous air of choice.

The police officers inside the car wear expressions of perplexity in response to the unexpected inquiry. "What?" stammers one of them, clearly caught off guard.

"Gun, it is," Kemar declares, his actions swift and decisive. Drawing his weapon, he unleashes a single shot, extinguishing the lives of both police officers, the sudden violence permeating the air with tension.