Olympus City Of Thieves | Find Him. | Episode 2

 Olympus City Of Thieves | Find Him

Episode 2

Written by Avijit Misra

Series created by Charles J

 

 

 

The sting of defeat still lingered on Trick Thomas. Jim Doger, his former partner turned nemesis, had not only escaped with the Bingshaw artifact but had also humiliated him in front of Olympus’ elite. Fury, cold and calculating, simmered within him. He would not let Doger get away with this. “Find him,” Trick growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble, addressing Razor, his enforcer. “Every scrap of information. Every contact, every deal. I want to know where he is hiding, who he is working with.”

Razor saluted, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. “Consider it done, Boss.” Trick knew he could not rely solely on his own resources. He needed someone discreet, someone who could operate in the shadows. His gaze fell upon a framed photograph on his desk – a younger, more carefree version of himself, standing alongside his younger brother, Noah, a mischievous grin plastered on the mechanic's face. 

Noah. A master of disguise, a whiz with technology, and fiercely loyal. The perfect asset for this operation. He contacted Noah through a secure channel. “Noah, my brother,” Trick‘s voice was a low, melodic hum, disguised by a voice modulator. “I need a favor.”

Noah, his face a mask of indifference, listened to Trick‘s request. “You want me to find Doger?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “After that little display at the Solstice Ball, I wouldn't mind seeing that smug grin wiped off his face.” Trick outlined the situation, emphasizing the importance of discretion. “This needs to be clean. No witnesses, no loose ends.” Noah, ever the pragmatist, agreed. “Consider it done. But you owe me a favor, big brother.”

Maurice Burns sat across from Chief Whitman, the polished mahogany desk gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights of the police headquarters. Whitman, a man whose uniform seemed to cling to him like a second skin, leaned back in his chair, a dismissive wave of his hand. “Burns,” Whitman sighed, “these art thefts are nothing more than the work of a few desperate criminals. A bit of petty larceny, that's all. Don't you have more pressing matters to attend to?”

Maurice, however, could not shake off the feeling that something much larger was at play. “Chief,” he persisted, “I'm seeing a pattern here. The targets, the timing... it's not random. And the sudden influx of wealth into certain sectors of the city, especially those which are crime-ridden and filled with lowlifes involved in criminal activities,... it doesn't add up.”

Whitman scoffed. “Don't be ridiculous, Burns. You're seeing conspiracies where none exist. Stick to the petty crimes, the muggings, the street brawls. That's what the taxpayers pay us for.” Maurice, frustrated, decided to take a different approach. “Chief, have you heard anything about the Bingshaw Manor theft

Whitman frowned. “The Bingshaw theft? Yes, of course. A regrettable incident. But as I said, nothing to get overly concerned about.”

Maurice leaned forward, his voice low and intense. “Chief! A side-view of the face of thief has been caught on security cameras! If my theory is right, then this thief is Jim Doger, an international criminal who steals priceless artifacts. Doger did not steal any painting of historical significance there. He stole something far more valuable.”

Whitman raised an eyebrow. “And what might that be, Burns? A hidden treasure? A secret love letter?” Maurice hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Legend has it that Fredrick Bingshaw, the artist, concealed a set of ancient scrolls within one of his masterpieces. Scrolls that, according to whispers, hold the secrets to an ancient technology based on ancient Indian science which might look like magic in comparison to the science that we have today.”

Whitman‘s dismissive expression vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. “Ancient technology? You‘re talking about… impossible.” Maurice continued, “I believe it. The sudden influx of wealth, the shadowy figures operating in the background... it all points to something far more sinister than petty theft. We are dealing with something far more dangerous, something that could destabilize the city, perhaps even the world.”

Whitman, finally intrigued, leaned forward. “And what makes you think these 'ancient scrolls' are involved?” Maurice continued to explain his findings. To his surprise, this time Whitman listened intently, his skepticism gradually fading. The implications of Maurice‘s theory were staggering. If these scrolls truly existed, and if they fell into the wrong hands, the consequences could be catastrophic. Maurice was wandering in many criminal dens asking about Johnny Jay. Beating up a low-level pickpocket, Maurice said, “Tell me where I can find Johnny Jay!” Pickpocket asked, “Why are you looking for a ghost?”

Maurice replied, “I am looking for Jim Doger! After committing a huge theft in full public view, he is missing! I cannot trace himself! He is a total ghost now! In Olympus City, nobody can be ghost without help from Johnny Jay! He is helping Jim Dogerto stay hidden!” Pickpocket replied, “Look man! I don‘t where Johnny Jay is! But I can tell you location he frequents.”

FEW DAYS LATER

The neon lights of Olympus City blurred into streaks of color as Johnny Jay pushed his custom-built motorbike to its limits, the wind whipping through his hair. He navigated the crowded streets with a reckless abandon, weaving through traffic with a skill honed by years of illicit street racing.

 

Below, the city hummed with a vibrant energy, a cacophony of sounds and sights. But for Johnny, the world outside his bubble of speed and adrenaline was a distant echo. His life was a blur of adrenaline rushes, illegal races, and the constant thrill of the chase. He yearned for something more, something beyond the roar of engines and the thrill of the escape. He yearned for Sarah.

Sarah Whitman, the Chief of Police‘s daughter.

*FLASHBACK*

The air crackled with the energy of the charity gala. Champagne flutes clinked, laughter bubbles, and the orchestra played a lively waltz. Amidst the glittering crowd, Johnny Jay, disguised as a wealthy socialite, surveyed the room, his eyes searching for his target. He was here to steal from rich, a calculated risk in his line of work. 

He spotted her across the room. Sarah Whitman. She was a vision in a shimmering emerald gown, her laughter light and infectious as she chats with a group of friends. Her eyes, the color of the summer sky, sparkle with genuine amusement.

Johnny was mesmerized. He had never seen anyone so radiant, so effortlessly elegant. He watched her, captivated, as she moves through the crowd, her kindness evident in the way she interacts with everyone, from the wealthy donors to the servers.

He was about to turn away, to dismiss her as an impossible dream, when their eyes met. Sarah smiled, a warm, genuine smile that reaches her eyes. Johnny felt a jolt, a strange, unfamiliar sensation. He felt… seen. He approached her cautiously. “Excuse me,” he begins, his voice rough with nerves. “You are… I feel you are an embodiment of charm.” Sarah laughed, a melodious sound. “Thank you. You are not so bad yourself.”

He stuttered, “I... I'm... Julian. Julian Vance.” “Sarah Whitman,” she replied, extending a hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vance.” As their hands touched during handshake, a jolt of electricity passes between them. He was instantly captivated, drawn to her warmth, and her unwavering kindness. Suddenly, a shrill voice cut through the music. “Stop him! That‘s him!”

Johnny froze, his eyes darting around the room. A woman, her face contorted with fury, pointed a trembling finger at him. “He stole my necklace! I was talking to him just minutes ago, and then it was gone!” The room erupted in a murmur of shock and disbelief. Guests turn to stare at Johnny, their eyes filled with suspicion. Two security guards, their faces grim, approach him. “Sir, if you wouldn‘t mind stepping aside with us...” Johnny glanced at Sarah, his eyes pleading. He saw the shock and disappointment mirrored in her eyes. He knew he had lost his chance, perhaps forever.

With a resigned sigh, he raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright,” he says, his voice a mixture of anger and despair. “Let's just get this over with.”  He knows this is the end of his charade, the end of his attempt to live a different life. He was back to being Johnny Jay, the street racer, the criminal, the man forever running from the law.

He turned to leave, his head bowed, the weight of his past and his shattered dreams pressing down on him. He leaves behind Sarah, her gaze following him with a mixture of shock and pity.

He ran and disappeared into the throng of panicked guests.

*END OF FLASHBACK*

Johnny was thinking, “But how could I possibly win the heart of a woman like her? She‘s everything I am not – law-abiding, compassionate, a beacon of hope in this city of shadows. I am not worthy of her. She‘s too good for me. I need to forget about her. It is not possible.  I will show her. I will show her that I am not just some reckless street racer. I will show her that I can change.” 

He knew he had to change. He had to leave his reckless life behind, shed the skin of the street racer and embrace the man he wanted to be. But the pull of the underworld was strong. The adrenaline, the camaraderie, the thrill of the chase – it was all too easy to fall back into that familiar rhythm.

Johnny Jay started his motorbike and cruised through the neon-lit expressway. Suddenly, he spotted a police cruiser tailing him. He grinned, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was it. Show time. He expertly maneuvered his motorbike, weaving through traffic, leaving the police cruiser trailing in his wake. As he sped away, a pang of guilt struck him. He was hurting the very woman he was trying to impress.

He pulled over at an abandoned warehouse, his heart pounding. He had to stop. He had to find a way out of this life. But as he sat in the darkness, the engine of his motorbike still humming, a chilling thought struck him.

He was not the only one being chased. A low growl rumbled beneath his motorbike, a warning. He glanced around, his senses on high alert. A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and imposing, a glint of steel in his hand. “Johnny Jay,” the figure rasped, his voice a chilling whisper. “It's time we had a little talk.”

Johnny‘s blood ran cold. He recognized that voice. It belonged to “Razor,” one of Trick Thomas‘s most ruthless enforcers.

“Trick sent me,” Razor continued, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. “He wants a word with you.”

END OF EPISODE 2