The street was chaos.
Everywhere Mark looked, Blue Academy and Silver High first-years were swinging. A one-on-one was rare — like spotting a unicorn in East Brook. Most fights were wolves on sheep: four guys circling one, three jumping two, pipes and fists moving before words even came out. The air smelled like sweat, dust, and blood on concrete. Sirens wailed somewhere far off, but nobody waited for cops. This was Brookhaven. You handled your own.
Meanwhile, on the border where Blue territory bled into neutral ground, Connor Price stood completely still.
He was surrounded.
Five guys in Blue High jackets had him boxed in, backs to the alley wall. None of them moved. None of them breathed too loud. Because this was the Red Riot they were staring at. And everyone knew the rule: it's one thing to get jumped by a guy who'll just break your jaw. It's another to get jumped by a guy who'll break your jaw _while_ turning you into tomorrow's meme.
Connor didn't even look tense. He looked bored.
White dress shirt, Silver High crest stitched clean over the pocket. Black dress pants. Air Jordan 1s scuffed just right. Tie loosened like he'd been wearing it for hours. Red hair catching the morning sun. Hands in pockets, like he was waiting for a bus instead of five guys who wanted his blood.
He finally glanced at them. Sharp red eyes. That grin.
"Hey guys, sorry but give me a sec."
Phones came out. Not theirs. His.
He pulled out his phone, thumb unlocked it, and hit "Go Live." The screen lit up instantly. 0 viewers. 3. 27. 143. The counter started climbing like it had a death wish.
Connor raised the phone, angling it so the five Blues were all in frame. Their faces went from angry to nervous in 0.2 seconds.
"Hey y'all, it's your boy Red here," he said, voice casual like he was talking to friends at lunch. "So get this. I'm just tryna get an education, right? Walkin' to school, minding my business, and five Blues jump me on the border. Five. On. One."
He tilted the camera toward them. The comments exploded instantly:
@silverclaw: EMBARRASS THEM
@brookhavenanon: make them the new meme
@1Astan: Red Riot don't care lmao
@blueacadwatch: RIP to those 5
Connor read a few out loud, nodding like he was taking advice from a coach.
"Hmmm, alright. Your wish is my command." He grinned wider, teeth flashing. Then he pointed the camera straight at the five guys again.
"Smile, guys. Cause you might never smile right after the Riot Experience."
The livestream chat went nuclear. 2k viewers now. 5k. Someone clipped it already.
The five Blues looked at each other. One of them took a step forward, fists shaking. Another backed up half a step. None of them wanted to be the first guy to throw a punch on live TV. None of them wanted to be the guy whose face got turned into a TikTok sound.
Connor just waited, phone steady, grin sharp.
"Come on. Don't be shy. The people want content."
---
Connor slid his phone onto a cracked brick ledge, angling it with two fingers until all five Blues were in frame. The chat was moving faster than he could read. 8k viewers now. Someone donated $5 with the message "DO THE SPLIT."
One of the guys didn't like being a background prop.
He lunged.
Fist came for Connor's temple. No stance. No setup. Just panic.
Connor dropped.
Not a dodge. A full split, legs hitting the concrete with a soft _thwap_. The fist sailed over his head, close enough to ruffle his red hair. The chat exploded with "LMAOOO" and "SPLIT KING".
From the split, Connor planted both palms, kicked his legs up, and walked his hands in a half-circle. Upside down, still split, like he was doing gymnastics at recess. Momentum carried him around behind the guy.
Then he snapped down.
Fist drove straight into the guy's groin. Clean. Mean. Textbook.
The scream was instant. High-pitched. Dignity evaporated. The guy dropped to his knees, hands flying to his crotch, eyes watering.
Connor flipped back to his feet smooth, like the ground was a trampoline. He didn't even break eye contact with the camera.
Then he wound up and _bitch-slapped_ him across the face. Open palm. Sound echoed off the alley walls. The guy spun sideways and hit the brick, dazed.
"That's what you get for disturbing my camera angle," Connor said, grin sharp. "A Johnny Cage special."
He put his hands together in mock prayer, bowing his head like a priest at a funeral.
"May your future generations survive the experience."
Chat lost it. @meme_hunter: JOHNNY CAGE FR @1Bspy: he's done this before @silverhighstan: STREAM SNIPER BAIT
"You bastard!"
Another guy snapped. Red face. He charged in screaming, swinging wild, trying to make up for his friend's humiliation with volume.
Connor didn't even look. He flicked his wrist up, caught the guy under the chin with a neck chop. Thumb to throat, edge of palm. The guy's shout cut off mid-syllable. Eyes rolled back. He dropped like someone hit mute on his entire body.
"Sorry," Connor said, adjusting the camera angle again. "Had to mute you for a bit."
The last three didn't wait for round three. They exchanged a look. That look said _we're not getting paid enough for this_. In unison, they turned and booked it down the alley, shoes slapping concrete.
"Hey!" Connor called after them, tilting his head like a curious dog. "Don't run, I have more fun stuff to run by you!"
No answer. Just footsteps fading fast.
He sighed, dramatic as hell, then picked up his phone. Comments were blowing up. 12k viewers. Clips already hitting Twitter. Someone stitched it with the Mortal Kombat theme.
"Well," Connor said, flashing a grin at the camera. "I guess that's all, guys. Until next time."
He ended the stream. The screen went black. 15k final viewer count.
Connor tucked the phone into his pocket, straightened his tie, and rolled his shoulders like he'd just finished a light jog.
"Now to get to school."
He walked toward Silver High, hands in pockets, whistle low under his breath. Behind him, two guys groaned on the concrete and one was still curled up apologizing to his ancestors.
The Red Riot didn't just win fights. He made them go viral.
---
The halls of Silver High were dead quiet.
Mark, Hakim, Payal, and Bianca walked in a loose formation, footsteps echoing off lockers. No students. No shouting. No usual morning chaos. Just the sound of their own breathing and distant glass shattering from somewhere outside the gates.
It made sense. Brookhaven was a warzone today. Who'd risk walking to class when Blue High jackets were hunting Silver uniforms block by block?
They passed two teachers near the stairwell. One was grading papers. The other sipped coffee, nodded at them, and kept walking. Like this was any other Tuesday. Like the sirens weren't wailing three streets over.
Mark frowned. "They're just… acting normal?"
Hakim sighed. "Because if they react, the school gets liable. If the school gets liable, it closes. If it closes, we all lose." He said it flat, like he'd accepted it years ago. "This is our problem to handle. Not theirs."
When they reached the library doors, the smell of old paper and dust hit them. Inside, sunlight cut through tall windows in sharp gold lines. Dust floated in the air.
And at a table in the back, back straight, glasses glinting, was Austin.
Psychology textbook open. Highlighter in hand. Like the city wasn't burning.
Mark stopped short. "Hey Austin, when did you—"
A pen flew across the table without Austin even looking up. Mark's hand shot out on instinct and caught it mid-air. Fingers closed around plastic.
Austin finally looked up. He adjusted his glasses, small smile there.
"You learn fast, Mark."
Mark stared at the pen in his hand. Yesterday he would've flinched. Today he caught it. Austin's dodgeball training was already rewiring his reflexes.
"Sorry to interrupt your study session," Hakim said, pulling out a chair. The legs scraped loud in the silence. He sat, arms folded. "But we need to talk about the chaos outside."
Austin closed his book with a soft _thump_. He wasn't surprised. He never was.
"Don't worry. I was coming to ask you all anyway." He folded his hands on the cover. "Can someone catch me up to speed?"
The group went quiet for a second. Four different perspectives. Four different fights to survive getting here.
"Alright," Bianca said. She leaned forward, eyes sharp despite the dirt on her cheek and torn sleeve. "Let me go first."
Her voice dropped. The library lights seemed to dim.
And the world shifted as her flashback began.
---