Andre stood on the corner of East Highland and Waterman, the air thick with the scent of asphalt and unrest. It was late 1990s San Bernardino, where the sun sank into a haze of orange, and the streets were both a playground and a battleground. At eighteen, he was already making a name for himself. Drug dealing had become a means of survival and power.

Every day, he played his part. Charm the locals. Keep rivals close enough to watch, but far enough to avoid trouble. To survive, he needed to build a reputation. Street cred was everything. Yet, lurking shadows reminded him that maintaining this power came with dangerous costs.

Then there was Jimmy. Andre's biological dad and the ghost of a nightmare. The man had left years ago, but the scars never healed. Rumors spread that Jimmy was back in town, looking to settle old scores. But Andre didn't care. He was stronger now. Yet, the thought of Jimmy's return gnawed at him.

"I'm ready for anything," Andre whispered more to himself than anyone else.

Yet, he felt the eyes - his rivals watching, waiting. He knew they were hungry for a chance to take him down. Every clank of a spray can or shuffle of feet sent his heart racing. Fear was a weakness he couldn't afford. And still, a heavy tension hung in the air.

One night, as the moon loomed overhead, Andre waited by the old warehouse. His crew buzzed nearby, flickering blunts and loud laughter, but his mind was focused. He felt the moment draw near. The dread coiled tighter in his stomach as he scanned the shadows.

"Yo, you good?" asked Rico, always the worrywart.

"Yeah, just waiting. Can you feel it? He's coming," Andre replied, his voice steady but edged with anxiety.

"Chill, just do your thing. You're the boss now."

But Andre wasn't so sure. Then came the sound of footsteps behind him. Heavy, direct. He turned, adrenaline spiking. There stood Jimmy, stooped and hollow, a far cry from the man Andre remembered.

"Hey, kid," Jimmy said. His voice was raspy but cool. "Thought I'd find you here."

With the streetlights flickering, the moment felt surreal. Andre was torn. The rage bubbled beneath the surface. He had dreamed of this confrontation, yet what was it all for? The power? The respect? Or something deeper?

"I'm not a kid anymore. I own these streets now," Andre said, trying to assert dominance.

Jimmy chuckled, an empty sound. "You think you've got it figured out? You're just a kid playing in a grown man's game. There's more to it than just drugs and money."

"Why are you even here?" Andre's voice sharpened. "You aint shit here."

"I came back for you. There are things you need to know," Jimmy said, stepping closer.

This was it. Andre's hand instinctively went to the knife hidden in his waistband. The memories of Mia flooded back. She was innocent - a victim caught in the crossfire. Her death was a wound that wouldn't heal. Andre promised himself justice, but it was slipping away.

"Listen!" Jimmy's voice rose. "I know you hate me, but I'm your father. I didn't mean for yo girl to die. I was trying to protect you."

It all crashed over Andre. The words felt too heavy. "You think that makes it okay? You think you can just show up and explain everything away?"

Then the moment snapped. Rage surged. Each heartbeat echoed in his ears. He lunged forward, the blade glinting under the night sky. The gut-wrenching truth settled in - that love could turn to hate, and family could become the fiercest enemy.

The blade plunged deep, indifference mixed with vindication. He pulled it back. Time froze. Jimmy's eyes widened in shock. Andre stepped back, breathless, watching as the light dimmed in those familiar eyes.

"Why?" Jimmy gasped, blood pooling beneath him. "I just wanted to - "

"Fuck you nigga! Thats for Mia!"

Blood stained the concrete, and in that moment, Andre's dreams of power turned hollow. He had lost a father, but would he find himself? The weight of vengeance lingered in the stillness of the night, and for the first time, Andre felt truly alone.