The officer’s face was red, contorted in an ugly mask of baseless rage. He gripped the boy’s jersey with both hands now, lifting Jamal onto his toes, completely ignoring the fact that he was manhandling a terrified child.
"Where's your proof of citizenship?" the officer roared, his voice cutting through the festive music like a siren.
Jamal’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His hands instinctively grabbed the officer's thick wrists, trying to pry them away so he could breathe. He was an American kid, born three blocks from this very street, but in the face of this sudden, violent authority, he was paralyzed.
"You're detained!" the officer screamed, spittle flying from his lips.
The crowd around them suddenly stopped. Laughter died in peoples' throats. Bystanders froze, cell phones half-raised, shocked by the sheer audacity and violence of a grown man in tactical gear attacking a boy in broad daylight.
Chapter 3: The Eclipse
But out of the stunned crowd, a shadow fell over the scene.
It wasn't a cloud blocking the sun. It was a man.
He moved with a terrifying, silent speed for someone of his impossible size. Dressed in a simple black tank top that strained against mountains of muscle, the man was a titan. He stood nearly seven feet tall, his dark skin gleaming with sweat in the summer heat, his expression completely devoid of mercy.