That's how I ended up: my body bruised, blood painting the ground crimson, vision blurring at the edges. My muscles scream every time I breathe. Dust from the collapsed wall chokes the air, mixing with the metallic scent of blood. The neon lights above flicker through the haze, painting the alley with dim shades of orange.
And then there's him.
The Monster.
That ominous, calm aura radiating from his body feels suffocating. Every step he takes toward me echoes like a countdown to my death. My instincts yell at me to move, to crawl, to run, to do something, but my body refuses to listen. I can only watch as he approaches, coat swaying lightly in the night breeze, his gaze cold enough to freeze blood.
"How disappointing," he says, voice flat but sharp enough to cut through the smoke. "I actually thought you would be a great asset, but I was wrong."
He stops right before me, crouching down. I feel his presence pressing down on me like a mountain. His eyes, gray and lifeless, scan me as if I'm some failed experiment.
He places a gloved hand on my blood-soaked shirt. The touch is light, almost gentle, yet it makes my heart pound like thunder.
"I really don't know what went wrong," he whispers. "You took down the hitmen with ease."
Hitmen?
That word hits harder than the punch that threw me through the wall. "What did he mean by that? Was he the one who sent those thugs after me? And the card I found—is it related to him?"
A thousand questions spiraled through my mind, but I couldn't afford to pursue them. My focus was on survival. Every instinct I've trained screams escape, but my body was wrecked. I was cornered, outmatched, and one move away from dying.
"What should I do?"
Then—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three gunshots coming from behind tore through the air, deafening in the enclosed alley. The man jerks his head to the side, reacting instantly. His body blurs, dodging left, but not fast enough as one bullet grazes his cheek. A thin line of blood drips down his face.
He then stops moving, his expression unchanged but his eyes… his eyes sharpen.
"Now I see what took you so long, Henry," a familiar voice calls out from the darkness beyond the alleyway.
The silhouette steps into the neon light, revealing slim-fitted blue jeans, a pink t-shirt, and a bright blue apron splattered with faint paint stains. Across the front, in rainbow-colored letters, it reads: Mrs. Lina's Home.
My jaw almost drops. Metaphorically,
"Mom's not going to be happy if you kill the kid," she says, pulling a cigarette from a small silver case and lighting it like she's just stepped out for groceries, not a gunfight.
The man turns to her, still calm. "And who might you be?"
"Ugh!" she exhales a cloud of smoke in sudden surprise, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh my… you're really handsome. You can call me Mary."
Miss Mary.
Mrs. Lina's second daughter, and the last person I expected to see here. She's loud, flirtatious, borderline perverted, and definitely not someone you'd picture wielding a gun. Yet here she is, standing confidently before a walking nightmare, cigarette in hand like it's nothing.
Fear ran through me. I tried my best to warn, but my voice didn't follow. My throat felt raw, my strength was gone. I wanted to tell her to run, to get away from that monster, but all I could do was watch as my vision got hazy.
---------------------------------------------
MISS MARY POV
The man's expression darkened, with a predatory chill in his tone. "I'd advise you not to interfere, Mary."
I felt it, a suffocating pressure that, for some reason, got me turned on. It slammed into me like a wave, paralyzing me. It was obvious that the mysterious attacker was strong.
But I blew another puff of smoke and grinned. "We don't have to get rough. If you leave Henry alone, I'll let you go. Handsome guys get a free pass in my book."
Though he said no words, his answer was simple. It was a no.
The air tightened. The entire alley went dead quiet. Even the distant city noise faded, replaced by a silence thick enough to choke on.
Then—
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
I fired four gunshots from my pistol, each one echoing through the alleyway. But the man moved fast. His body was a blur, weaving before the bullets were shot. Not a single shot touched him.
His heels slammed against the pavement as he pushed toward me, closing the gap in seconds. But I didn't give him the chance.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Another volley of bullets, and like last time, he weaved. Every step was calculated, every motion efficient. He was reading me, predicting my every shot. In less than three heartbeats, he appeared before me, launching a jab at my face. But my thrust kick landed first.
Launching the man backward, but he landed on his feet, looking almost untouched.
"You're quite strong," he muttered, dusting himself off as if he had just tripped, his expression never changing. "I commend you."
"You're not bad yourself, pretty boy," I replied, raising my gun and smirking.
BANG! BANG!
Two more shots echoed. He tilted his head, avoiding both with unnatural precision. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone from where he stood; he vanished.
Only to suddenly appear right before me with a kick ready.
I could barely follow his movement. My pupils narrowed as I adjusted my body mid-motion. I raised an arm, trying to block, but
BOOM!
To my surprise, it was a direct knee strike with an impact that sent me flying through a wall, causing debris to rain around me. The collision broke a few bones, and I could feel it. I lay there in pain as thoughts flooded through my mind.
"Who is this man? He packs quite a punch. He's definitely my type, but right now we're enemies, so what do I do?"
"Miss… Mary!" a weak voice called out. I looked and saw through the dust that it was Henry.
All thoughts in my mind cleared instantly as I remembered my mission. I was told to bring him back safely.
Mustering my strength, I walked through the dust. I was bruised, bleeding, but still moving. I rolled my shoulder, warming up. "Handsome and strong?… You're definitely my type," I said with a wide grin on my face.
The man's expression didn't change. "Quite disappointing. It seems my time with you is over." His tone was still cold, still calm.
"Somehow you managed to survive. Henry Rhodes, we will meet again," the man said, ignoring my presence and looking at Henry. At that moment, I felt pissed off and alone.
"What? Where do you think you're goi-" I couldn't finish. The man gave me a gaze that immediately blocked my airways; I couldn't breathe. The air immediately shifted; he possessed murderous intent so thick I couldn't move.
Then in an instant, he disappeared, only to reappear beside me with a hand on my shoulder and his mouth to my ear.
"Know your place." Three simple words, yet they left me utterly scared. Because that one act, the way he crossed the distance in an instant, told both Henry and me everything. He wasn't fighting seriously. He was toying with me.
He then walked past me, into the bustling streets of New York until he was gone. And only after he left did I realize that I was on my knees.
For a split second, the world stopped. My pulse spiked. A cigarette half-finished on the pavement. Both Henry and I were filled with absolute fear.
I exhaled slowly, tension draining from my body. "Stupid Henry," I muttered, lighting another cigarette with trembling fingers. "You really know how to make friends with nice people."
Silence filled the alley, which was surprising, knowing Henry would have shot back at me for that comment. I then turned to him to see just how grave his injuries were, but to my surprise, he had passed out.
"Hey Henry, don't you dare pass out on me. Stay away from the light, kid, stay away!" I yelled.