AFLOAT SEASON 2 Ep. 12

It is in your moments of decision that your destiny is shaped.

Tony Robbins

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Location: Maurice's Compound

“Maurice! Maurice, I know you can hear me!”

Eric was flanked by a handful of his ferocious-looking squad, all clad in their usual red-and-black uniforms of various designs. It was nearly midnight, and they stood before a modern brick bungalow surrounded by neatly trimmed shrubs and flowers. Bright lights mounted on the exterior walls illuminated the grounds, casting enough glare for Eric to see through the open sliding windows that the house was occupied. Some of his men peeled off toward the backyard while others took up positions along the flanks, every one of them wielding clubs and machetes.

Eric took in the compact building, which was clearly undergoing renovations judging by the sharp scent of fresh paint and the wet sheen on the front porch walls. A frown creased his brow as memory tugged at him—recalling the early days when they had formed the vigilante group together, with Maurice standing right by his side.

Maurice had been his most trusted deputy, his right-hand man, right up until he fell from grace. Now, Eric was forced to hunt him down for a crime Maurice still vehemently denied committing, even after a dozen witnesses had sworn against him.

“Maurice!”

He called out again, his voice cutting through the stillness. A dog barked in the distance; Eric knew news of their late-night raid would fuel the village gossip mill by daybreak.

One of his squad members stepped forward, raising a heavy club to strike the locked iron security gate guarding the front door. Before the blow landed, bright lights flickered on inside the quiet house. Muffled voices drifted out, followed by the metallic click of a deadbolt. A shadowed figure peered out from behind the grille before unlocking it and stepping onto the front porch.

It was Maurice. He was bare-chested, his shirt draped loosely over his left shoulder.

“Eric! What is the meaning of this? Why are you disturbing us at this time of night? You just terrified my wife!” Maurice bellowed, stepping into the full glare of the fluorescent lights.

The voice was unmistakably his, but time had been unforgiving. Eric felt a pang of quiet sorrow taking in Maurice’s slight limp and protruding belly—one that almost rivaled the bump of his heavily pregnant wife, who cowered just inside the doorway.

Shaking off the sudden flood of memories, Eric stepped up onto the porch to meet Maurice’s steady, inquiring gaze. He opened his mouth to demand answers, but the faint glint of amusement hidden behind Maurice’s eyes made him freeze.

Anyone else would have missed it. But Eric knew him as well as he knew his own soul.

In an instant, all doubt vanished: Maurice had been expecting them.

The realization shattered whatever fragile sympathy Eric had harbored. The suspicion that Maurice was deeply entangled in the current crisis fanned his mounting rage into a wildfire. Old rivalries and forgotten grudges—emotions he thought he had buried years ago—flared back to life like dying embers doused in gasoline.

Eric knew that acting in blind fury rarely ended well. But patience was a virtue the ancestral gods had denied him—especially when his duty, his reputation, and the people he swore to protect were on the line.

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