Failed Drop.

The dorm room was a haze of smoke and stale beer, the air thick with the tang of sweat and cheap cologne. Mikey lounged on his bed, one arm slung over his face, the other dangling off the edge, a half-smoked joint pinched between his fingers.

"Oi, Mikey!" A pillow thwacked him in the face, jolting him upright. "Stop bogarting the spliff, you wanker."

Mikey squinted through the haze, making out the grinning face of his roommate, Liam. "Sod off," he grumbled, but he passed the joint anyway.

Liam took a long drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling in a steady stream. "You see that fit bird in Econ today? The one with the tattoo on her neck?"

"Nah, mate, I was too busy trying not to fall asleep." Mikey rubbed his eyes, trying to focus. "Professor Jameson's lectures are like fucking sleeping pills."

Liam snorted. "Maybe if you didn't stay up all night playing FIFA, you wouldn't be nodding off in class."

"Fuck off, I wasn't playing FIFA." Mikey dug in his pocket for his phone, the screen lighting up with a notification. "I was working, wasn't I?"

Liam's eyebrows shot up. "Another job? Mate, you're gonna get yourself nicked one of these days."

Mikey waved him off, already scrolling through the app. "It's just a quick drop, innit? Easy money."

The app was simple, almost generic looking. But Mikey knew the power it held. A few taps, and he had all the details he needed. Pick up the package from Spot C, deliver it to the address on the screen. Don't look inside, don't ask questions. Just do the job, get paid, move on.

It was a system that worked, a well-oiled machine that kept the gears of the underworld turning. And at the center of it all, the Apollo Twins. The faceless, nameless entities that pulled the strings, the puppet masters of the Manchester underworld.

Mikey had never seen them, never even heard their real names. But he'd heard the stories. Cross the Twins, and you disappear. It was that simple.

He pocketed his phone, rolling off the bed. "Right, I'm off. Got a pickup across town."

Liam shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "Be careful out there, yeah? Don't do anything stupid."

Mikey grinned, snagging his jacket from the back of the door. "Me? Stupid? Never."

The crisp autumn air was a slap to the face after the stuffiness of the dorm. Mikey zipped his jacket, hopping on his bike. The app blinked on his phone, the map leading him through the winding streets of Manchester.

Spot C was a nondescript alley, tucked between a chip shop and a boarded-up storefront. Mikey ditched his bike, sauntering down the alley with a casual air that belied the hammering of his heart.

The package was exactly where it was supposed to be, tucked behind a bin. Mikey scooped it up, shoving it into his backpack. Just another textbook, as far as anyone could tell.

He was about to hop back on his bike when his phone buzzed again. Another job, another drop. Mikey hesitated, glancing at the clock. He had time, didn't he? Time for a quick detour.

Jenna's flat was just a few blocks away. Mikey hadn't seen her in days, too caught up in the hustle. She'd understand. She always did.

He knocked on her door, bouncing on the balls of his feet. When she opened it, her face broke into a smile that made Mikey's heart skip a beat.

"Mikey! What a surprise!" She pulled him into a hug, her warmth enveloping him.

"Thought I'd drop by, didn't I?" Mikey grinned, stepping inside. "Missed you, babe."

Jenna's flat was tiny but cozy, every surface cluttered with knick-knacks and photos. She led him to the couch, curling up beside him.

"So, what brings you here in the middle of the day?" She asked, her fingers tracing patterns on his arm. "Not that I'm complaining."

Mikey shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Had a bit of free time, didn't I? Wanted to see my girl."

Sara laughed, the sound like sunshine. "Your girl, huh? I like the sound of that."

One kiss led to another, and before Mikey knew it, they were tangled together, clothes strewn across the floor. He lost himself in the feel of her, the taste of her, the world falling away until it was just the two of them.

It was the buzz of his phone that jolted him back to reality. Mikey swore, untangling himself from Jenna. The clock on the nightstand seemed to mock him. He was late. Fucking hell, he was late.

"I've got to go," he mumbled, pressing a distracted kiss to Jenna's cheek. "Work stuff. I'll call you, yeah?"

Jenna pouted, but she let him go. "You'd better. And be careful, Mikey. I worry about you."

The streets were a blur as Mikey pedaled like a madman. The pickup spot was on the other side of town, and the clock was ticking. He wove through traffic, ignoring the blare of horns and the shouts of angry pedestrians.

He was so focused on his destination that he almost didn't see the police checkpoint. Mikey skidded to a halt, his heart in his throat. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The officer waved him over, his face stern. "Routine check, lad. Off the bike, please."

Mikey's mind raced as he climbed off his bike. The bag. He couldn't let them take the bag.

"What's in the backpack, son?" The officer asked, his hand outstretched.

"Just books, sir." Mikey tried to keep his voice steady. "For class."

The officer's eyes narrowed. "Mind if I take a look?"

Mikey's heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest. He couldn't let them search the bag. But he couldn't run, either.

Or could he?

"Actually, sir," Mikey started, his voice shaking slightly. "I'm already late for my lecture. Is this going to take long?"

The officer's hand moved to his belt, resting on his baton. "As long as it needs to, lad. Now, the bag."

Mikey's eyes darted around, looking for an out. The street was busy, pedestrians milling about. If he could just create a distraction...

In a split second of sheer, adrenaline-fueled madness, Mikey shoved his bike at the officer and bolted. He heard the clatter of metal on pavement, the shout of surprise and anger.

"Stop! Police!"

And then he heard the shot. Felt the punch of it, the scorching pain that ripped through his leg. He hit the ground hard, his scream echoing off the buildings.

But even through the pain, through the terror, one thought pounded in Mikey's head. The bag. He had to protect the bag.

He dragged himself off the road, his vision blurring with tears. There, just behind the bushes - a steep embankment, leading down to the river.

With a final, desperate surge of energy, Mikey threw himself over the edge. He tumbled down the slope, the world spinning, every jolt sending fresh waves of agony through his shattered leg.

He hit the water with a splash, the icy chill shocking the breath from his lungs. He flailed, gasping, the current tugging at him. But he clung to the bag, his lifeline.

Mikey dragged himself onto the bank, shivering and sobbing. He had to keep going. He had to finish the job.

But as he looked up, his heart stopped. A figure loomed over him, tall and broad in a black tracksuit. The Apollo Twins' sign glinted on their chest. The man's face was hard, his eyes cold and predatory. He was bald, with a thick beard and a jagged scar that ran from his left ear to the corner of his mouth.

"Well, well," the man said, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "What do we have here? A little lost yute?"

Mikey opened his mouth, a plea, an apology, something. But before he could make a sound, the man's fist crashed into his face.

Pain exploded behind his eyes, bright and sharp. He felt the crunch of bone, tasted blood. His vision swam, darkened.

"That's for making me come out here, you dickhead," the man growled. "Mans not happy when wastemen fuck about with his time, ya get me?"

As he slipped into unconsciousness, one final thought flickered through Mikey's mind. He'd fucked up. He'd fucked up badly.

And now, he was going to pay the price.

***