Ethan spotted the two young thugs as he walked down the street.
'They're around the age Mark and I were back then, but we never bothered with peddling dope.' He reminisced for a moment before locking eyes with them.
They merely laughed, not scared or intimidated by him.
Ethan wasn't in the mood to deal with them and was about to keep walking until he saw Mr Cho through the glass of his store.
Swollen face.
Bruises.
Dried blood at the corner of his mouth.
Ethan immediately stopped.
Something twisted hard in his chest.
He wasn't the heroic type, or at least he didn't try to be, but he was indebted to the old man and hated seeing people around him suffer.
Without hesitation, he walked straight over to them, fists clenched, but his face calm.
"Didn't I tell you not to sell your dope here?"
One of them smirked, "We sell where we want, asshole."
Ethan smiled, but it was a dangerous smile, one far from amusement.
"I can understand that, but then why'd you do that to the old man?"
"We were selling. He started mouthing off."
"So we shut him up," the other said. "You got a problem with that?"
There were two of them, one of whom had a gun. And they had a giant crew behind them, as well as Mace and their boss.
That's where their confidence lay.
But Mace and their boss weren't here, and they were among the few who could save them now.
Ethan lit a cigarette, eyes flat.
"I needed to blow off some steam anyway."
"What was that?" one snapped.
Ethan stepped in and drove his fist straight into his nose.
The crack echoed.
The youth screamed, stumbling back.
"You're in some gang and think it makes you hard," Ethan snarled. "You think beating an old man makes you somebody?"
The second rushed forward, but Ethan slammed him into the wall, his forearm crushing his throat.
"There are literal fucking monsters in this world now," Ethan continued, breathing heavy. "And you're both still this arrogant."
They swung wildly.
Their eyes were squeezed shut, panic taking over.
It was pathetic.
'They both have a boxer base, but they're barely amateurs,' Ethan gauged. 'It doesn't matter how much you train or plan, it all goes out of the window once you get hit in the face.'
Ethan had survived seven years in prison and spent years getting into trouble before that.
This wasn't a fight.
This was child's play.
'But I should probably quit smoking,' he thought distantly. 'I'm already getting tired.'
He weaved through most of their attacks, and each time he did, he would strike back, focusing on speed and jabbing at their faces.
Even when he had open body shots that could have dealt more damage, he wanted to break them mentally and leave them with a battered face that reminded them not to come here again.
That's when...
"Ha! How'd you like that?"
He took a hit to the face - one of them managed to graze him with one of their swings.
'I'm getting rusty already, getting hit by a kid,' he laughed, rubbing his face slightly before swinging right back, with intent this time.
Bang!
He immediately fell to the ground, dazed by a cross to his mouth that broke one of his front teeth.
"D-Do it!" he cried to his friend as he caught the piece of his tooth, blood dripping from his mouth.
The other then pulled a pistol, hands shaking. "B-Back up! I-I swear I'll really shoot!"
Ethan's expression hardened.
"You don't pull a weapon unless you're ready to use it."
He stepped forward slowly, grabbed the gun by the barrel, and put it against his own forehead.
"Go on then, kill me."
He held it tight and wasn't bluffing either, his piercing blue eyes unwavering as he stared into the soul of the shaken youth who had just had his ass handed to him.
"You'd be doing me a favour," he added under his breath.
The youth was frozen in place, finger fumbling as he went for the trigger.
His friend was looking at him expectantly, but only he would live with the consequences...
'Is this really worth killing someone over?'
'Do I want to rot in a cell for this?'
'Can I even pull the trigger?'
All these thoughts were bouncing in his mind before Ethan lost his patience.
He twisted his wrist and disarmed him in one smooth motion.
He then elbowed him straight in the jaw before soccer-kicking the other in the head while he was trying to get up.
Two brutal strikes, and both were unconscious.
"I'll keep this," Ethan said, tucking the gun into his sweatpants.
He then rummaged through their pockets and took their cash before heading inside Mr Cho's corner store.
"Hey, old man," he greeted him casually before placing the money on the counter.
"If they come back," he said quietly, "just let me or Mark know."
Mr Cho nodded rapidly, clearly shaken by what he had watched through his store window.
"Tank you, Etan."
Ethan left straight after, laughing softly as crackheads descended on the unconscious dealers.
Then he headed to Mark's bar.
It was warm and bustling with its few regulars.
Pool balls clacked, and glasses clinked as people chattered away.
Ethan sat at the bar.
"So," Mark asked carefully. "How was it?"
"Don't want to talk about it. Give me the strongest thing you've got."
Mark hesitated, concern etched deep, then poured.
As Ethan lifted the glass, Mark grabbed his arm.
'Blood on his fists?'
"What happened?" he immediately questioned.
"Kids beat up the old man. I just returned the favour."
"You did what? Do you know who-"
Ethan laughed hollowly. "Relax. I'm Titled now, remember?"
Better to laugh than to cry.
Mark just shook his head, seeing the cracks clearly.
Ethan drank until everything faded - on the house, of course.
But when Mark carried him down to the basement that night, Ethan wasn't sleeping like usual...