They Broke My Twin, So I Broke Them

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My twin brother jumped from the school roof to his death.

My parents didn't call the cops.

Instead, they ordered me to come back from the frontlines of war, step into his shoes, and pretend to be him at school.

They wanted me to make every single person who bullied him pay in blood.

Even his golden-girl ex-girlfriend would soon be kneeling at my feet, begging for mercy.

On the other end of the line, my mothers voice was broken, choked with sobs.

"Your brother... Leo is dead. He killed himself."

Those words hit my chest like a sledgehammer. I could barely breathe.

"Are you... are you sure?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but my hands were shaking.

"Yes, Cole. They bullied him. They ruined him... It was too horrible," she whimpered.

"Don't tell anyone. Don't call the police yet. Put him in the cold storage room. I need to see him myself." I forced myself to sound calm, though my tough exterior was cracking like cheap glass.

"Ive done it. When will you be home?" she asked.

"Right now. I'm leaving the base immediately. Mom, hang in there." I hung up, my heart bleeding.

I had to find out what happened.

My baby brotherthe boy I had spent my entire life protectingwas lying in a freezer.

How could he kill himself?

The moment my flight landed, I hopped onto the motorcycle my contact had prepped for me and tore down the highway toward our familys country estate.

I bypassed the main house and went straight to the detached barn. In the driveway sat a commercial freezer truck my dad had rented through some underground connections.

The moment Mom saw me, she burst into tears. Dad just pointed a trembling finger at the heavy metal doors of the truck, unable to speak.

I stepped forward and pulled the latch. Inside, covered in a thin layer of frost, lay my brother. A white-hot rage flared in my chest.

Leo and I were identical. If we wore the same clothes, only our mother could tell us apart. Even our dad used to get us mixed up.

I immediately began examining his body. I needed to know exactly how he died.

What I saw made my blood run cold. His skin was a canvas of abuse.

Cigarette burns, deep blade cuts, crude surgical stitches... every mark screamed of the torture he had endured before he died.

My grief hardened into a deadly, murderous resolve.

I gently ran my hand over Leo's cold cheek. Images of him as a little boy, always running behind me and calling my name, flashed through my mind.

"This time, little brother, Im going to tear their world apart."

I stepped out of the truck. Mom grabbed my hand, completely breaking down.

"He suffered so much, Cole..."

"Your father and I were useless. We went to the school, but they threatened us. We tried to get the local cops involved, but they just told us to settle it quietly. Nobody cared."

My chest tightened. I squeezed my eyes shut, and when I opened them, they were bloodshot with rage.

I needed names. I needed to know who pushed him over the edge.

I had spent years in a private mercenary group. I thought I was numb to blood and death. I thought nothing could make me feel pain again.

But looking at my twins corpse felt like having a piece of my own soul ripped out.

The legendary "White Wolf," the most ruthless mercenary of the squad, was gone. Only a vengeful brother remained.

Dad was sobbing quietly in the corner. The house was filled with a suffocating grief.

"Mom, where is Leos phone?" my voice was dangerously low.

She rushed inside and brought it to me.

I unlocked it. The notifications were a nightmare.

*Yo, Leo, you dead yet? You skipped school today. I told you, today you're playing my dog and licking my shoes in front of everyone.*

*Where the fuck are you? You better have my two hundred bucks by tomorrow, or you're dead.*

*Leo, I still have that video of you and that fat, ugly chick naked. I wonder how your precious girlfriend Amber would feel if I leaked it? Show up tomorrow, or else.*

Below the texts was a video file.

I clicked it. Leo was stripped naked, forced to kiss a crying, disfigured girl while a group of guys stood around them, laughing hysterically and kicking him.

Every single message felt like a knife twisting in my ribs.

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. I swore, right then and there, I would make them wish they were never born.

The next morning, I threw on Leo's prep school blazer and walked through the gates of St. Jude's Academy.

As I entered the homeroom, the entire class stopped. They stared at me with smirks and mocking grins.

I knew Leos class, but I didn't know his exact seat. I walked up to a random guy near the front. "Where do I sit?"

The guy blinked, then burst into a loud laugh. "Did you finally get your brain scrambled yesterday? You dont even know your own seat? The trash sits in the trash corner, obviously."

A wave of snickers rippled through the room.

I walked over to the desk in the far back corner. It was covered in graffiti, dirt, and garbage.

I picked up Leo's backpack. When I opened it, a pile of torn, defaced textbooks and ruined homework fell out.

My face remained blank, but inside, a monster was waking up.

The more I saw, the more I realized what a living hell my brothers life had been.

I calmly scooped up all the trash from my desk and stuffed it into the classroom wastebasket. Then, under the bewildered stares of my classmates, I walked over to the guy who had just mocked me and dumped the entire bin right onto his desk.

"What the fuck! You want to die, Vance?!"

He roared, jumping up and swinging a fist at my face.

I dodged it effortlessly. With one smooth motion, I slammed the plastic trash can over his head, kicked his knees out, and sent him crashing back into his chair.

He ripped the bin off his head, cursing, trying to stand up again.

I slapped him. Hard. The crack echoed like a gunshot. Before he could recover, I grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face flat against the wooden desk.

A pampered school kid was nothing against my military training.

I squeezed a pressure point on his neck, and he let out a pathetic shriek.

"Who messed with my desk?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, but cold enough to freeze water. I pressed harder.

"II don't know!"

I dug my thumb deeper into his nerve ending.

He screamed like a slaughtered pig, his legs flailing. "Stop! Stop! It was Jared! Chloe and Mia too! They dumped the trash on your desk! Nobody else did it, I swear!"

His limbs were shaking. I let go. He slumped over the desk, sobbing like a baby.

The entire classroom was dead silent. No one could believe their eyes.

"Holy shit, Vance. You think youre tough now? You're dead after school, you freak."

A big, muscular guythe classic varsity football typestood up, pointing a finger at me.

I smiled, walking slowly toward him. "Why wait until after school? Lets talk right now."

The guy, Brandon, looked surprised. He glanced around at his friends. Realizing he had an audience, he decided he couldn't back down.

He lunged forward and tried to slap me.

To the rest of the class, Brandon was a tank. But to me, his movements were in slow motion. Before his hand could even reach me, my fingers clamped onto the soft muscle group under his armpit like steel pliers.

He froze, his face contorting in pure agony. "Let... Let go!"

He screamed. I didn't. Instead, I twisted his arm behind his back, locking his elbow joint. The more he struggled, the closer his bone came to snapping.

Tears streamed down his face. "Stop! Please! It hurts! Please, stop!"

Making a varsity athlete cry in front of his peers required a level of pain most normal people couldn't even comprehend.

I leaned in. "Jared, Chloe, and Mia ruined my desk. What are you going to do about it, Brandon?"

"I'll fix it! I'll beat the shit out of them for you!" he cried out, his face turning purple as he trembled.

I released him. He collapsed into his chair, his shirt drenched in sweat, gasping for air.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Brandon took a few deep breaths, then got up, marched over to Jared, and kicked him right out of his chair.

"You idiot! Why the fuck did you mess with his desk and get me dragged into this?!"

Brandon unleashed all his humiliation and rage onto Jared, kicking him repeatedly. Jared curled into a ball under his desk, howling for mercy.

Chloe and Mia turned pale. They scrambled backward, looking for an exit.

"Clean my desk," I said, pointing to the corner. "Put it back where it belongs, and I won't hold a grudge."

The two girls ran to the back of the room, grabbed paper towels and disinfectant, and began scrubbing my desk like their lives depended on it. One of them ran to the bathroom to fetch fresh water.

Just as they were finishing, the classroom door swung open. Two guys and a girl walked in.

"Chloe? Mia? Are you out of your minds?"

The guy in the lead was handsome, wearing a tailored designer jacket over his uniform. He frowned, looking at me sitting casually on the edge of a desk. "Why are you cleaning up for this loser, Leo?"

I pulled out my phone and checked the photos.

Tristan Sterling. The golden boy. The billionaires son. My brothers phone logs showed that Tristan was the mastermind behind almost all of his torment.

I stood up and walked toward him. Before I could even say a word, Tristan sneered and swung a hard punch at my jaw.

I caught his fist in mid-air. With a simple twist of my wrist, a loud *pop* echoed through the room.

Tristans shoulder dislocated.

"Aaaahhh! My arm! You broke my arm!" he shrieked, falling to his knees.

He had never experienced real physical pain in his life. The arrogant, untouchable rich kid vanished in an instant, replaced by a whimpering child.

I shook his dislocated arm slightly. He screamed louder, tears and snot running down his face.

Just then, the warning bell for the next class rang. I grabbed his arm, gave it a sharp yank, and popped the joint back into place. The worst of the pain subsided instantly, but he was left shaking, covered in cold sweat.

"Lets meet up after school. Our usual spot," I whispered, tapping his cheek with a grin before walking back to my clean desk.

The classroom remained silent. Tristans friends stared at me as if they were looking at a ghost.

When Tristan finally recovered, he glared at me with pure, murderous hatred. I just winked at him.

At lunchtime, I walked over to the basketball courts near the cafeteria. Within minutes, Tristan appeared, flanked by a dozen massive guys from the sports teams. A few of them were holding baseball bats.

"You're a dead man, Vance! You think you're tough because you got lucky this morning? Get him! I'll pay for his medical bills. Break his legs!" Tristan roared, waving his hand.

They rushed me.

I immediately went into defensive mode, protecting my vital organs with my arms. I let them kick and punch me, but I wasn't just taking the beating. I was using a close-quarters military defenseusing my elbows and knees to strike their joints as they closed in.

To anyone watching, I was getting jumped. But in reality, the guys hitting me were the ones letting out muffled groans of pain.

After about three minutes of acting, I saw my opening. I broke through their circle, looking disheveled and bruised, and ran toward the alley behind the gymnasium.

It was a blind spot. No security cameras.

I stopped.

The mob caught up, laughing. "Can't run anymore, can you? You broke my hand with your elbow, you freak! I'm going to smash your head in!"

The guys with the baseball bats swung at me.

I stopped playing defense. My eyes went cold, and I stepped into their guard.

Elbows to the throat. Knees to the ribs. Sweeps to the ankles.

The sickening sound of cracking bones filled the narrow alley.

I moved like a shadow, slipping past their clumsy swings. Their attacks couldn't even graze me. Within two minutes, all twelve of Tristans goons were on the floor, groaning and clutching shattered limbs.

Tristan stood at the back, completely frozen. "No... No way. Leo is a coward. How can you fight like this?"

I walked up to him, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You guys got away with torturing my brother because the school board protects you. Because your dad owns this place, right?"

Tristans eyes widened with terror. He tried to puff out his chest. "If you know who my dad is, you better back off. He can have you thrown in prison with one phone call!"

I laughed. I pulled a long, thick metal nail from my pocket, clicked my lighter, and began heating the tip.

"Tell me," I said softly, "what kind of shady deals are going on between the Principal and your dad?"

Tristan stared at the glowing hot metal, his chest heaving. "What are you talking about? My dad just donated some money to the school"

Before he could finish, I slammed the heated nail into a deep nerve cluster near his collarbone and covered his mouth with my hand.

He went rigid, his eyes bulging as he thrashed against me.

After five seconds, I pulled the nail out. The smell of singed flesh rose between us.

Tristan collapsed to the ground, his body shaking, soaked in sweat.

I clicked the lighter again, heating the nail once more. "This is an old interrogation trick from the Middle East. It won't kill you, but the pain in that nerve cluster will last for a week."

"One or two points are manageable. But if I do ten? The pain will trigger a constant, burning fever. Your body will feel like it's on fire, and no painkillers in the world will help you."

"The record is twenty-seven points. The guy lasted eleven days before his heart gave out. Want to see how many you can take?"