Daniel and I stood frozen. This wasn't a school fight-it was a hunt. They were playing with us like toys.
My heart sank into my stomach. I shivered, my voice trapped in my throat as the logic. There was no time to calculate. No way out. The air was thick with the scent of rust and fear.
Whish. A bat cut through the air, slamming into my stomach. I doubled over, a guttural growl of pain escaping me as the wind was knocked out of my lungs. Beside me, Daniel went down under a rain of blows. We were helpless-utterly, sickeningly helpless. All of this... over a minor hallway confrontation?
Rough hands seized my hair, jerking my head back. They dragged us across the gritty concrete toward the throne. We were a mess of bruises and broken pride.
"Why?" Daniel gasped, blood bubbling on his lips. "Why are you doing this to us?"
"Because it's fun," Simon replied, leaning down. "How dare you look me in the eyes? How dare you try to refute me? Now, look at you. You should've just lowered your head in the hallway."
He laughed-a jagged, manic sound that echoed off the warehouse walls. He wasn't just a bully; he was a psycho who thrived on the destruction of others.
Simon reached out and grabbed the girl, winding her hair around his fist. "You're quite the beauty... you smell good." He leaned in, smelling her neck with a slow, sickening lick. "Better behave if you want your grandmother to live."
He began unbuttoning her uniform. She screamed, her eyes wild, and slammed her forehead into his face.
"Bitch!" Simon snarled.
Four of his guys lunged forward, pinning her limbs to the cold floor. Their faces were twisted with a dark, predatory ecstasy. Simon wiped his nose and grinned. "I'll let you all have a turn when I'm done."
The police officer stepped closer, his voice hesitant. "Hey, Simon, you've never gone this far. I can't cover up a rape or a murder. Slow down."
Simon didn't even look at him. "Shut up. You want your turn next? You want the money? Then keep your mouth shut."
The officer's hesitation vanished into a sick, greedy smile. "Fine. I'll be next."
The girl's screams filled the warehouse as they tied her hands. Her uniform was torn away, leaving her shivering in the cold air. Daniel was sobbing now, the sound of a spirit breaking in real-time.
Simon's head dipped low, his tongue sliding across her stomach with a slow, sickening deliberateness.
He was savoring her terror, feeding off the way her body convulsed under the hands of his subordinates.
"Instead of paying money to some slut," Simon murmured against her skin, his voice thick with a dark, twisted satisfaction, "taking it like this... raping someone... it's even better."
Beside me, Daniel's sobbing turned into a low, jagged growl. We were mad-a deep, soul-burning madness that overrode the pain of our own bruises. Seeing him treat a human being like a piece of meat, hearing the "law" behind us chuckling in anticipation-it broke something inside me.
My mind fractured. The rage and the shock were a storm in my head. Suddenly, a memory cut through the chaos-a quiet kitchen, the smell of home, and the steady gaze of my mother.
-
"Mom, what if bad people do bad things to me?"
She didn't give me a lecture on morality. She just smiled. "Survive."
"Just survive. Do what you must. Run, fight, hide. And if you're out of options and you have to kill... then do it. I love you too much to see you in a coffin. Trust yourself. Think of the best action, no matter what life throws at you."
-
Forty people in the room. Thirty predators, eight victims, and a handful of broken bodies.
Through the red haze of Cale vision, he scanned the thirty faces surrounding him.
He saw the different layers of human rot.
There were the true psychos-the ones leaning forward with wide, hungry eyes, savoring the girl's screams.
But then there were the others. The "followers." He saw their white knuckles and the way their eyes darted toward the shadows. They were bullies, yes, but they hadn't bargained for a massacre. They were unsettled. They were afraid.
He realized the truth: a crowd of thirty isn't thirty fighters. It's a few monsters and people waiting to see who wins. To survive, he didn't need to kill everyone. He just had to break the illusion of Simon's invincibility.
He waited for the exact moment the police officer looked away to light a cigarette. He waited for the guards to lose themselves in the dark ecstasy of the moment. He waited until the air was thick with their misplaced confidence.
Simon was a king in his own mind, his fingers hooking into the girl's lace with the arrogance of a man who thought he had already won. He didn't even glance at the people behind him.
The two guards standing over Cale were just as careless.
They were leaning back, their eyes fixed on Simon's "performance," their laughter echoing off the corrugated metal walls.
They didn't see Cale's hand slide across the grit. They didn't see his fingers lock around the jagged edge of a heavy masonry brick.
Then, the "victim" died. The predator woke up.
"AAAGHHH!"
A jagged, throat-tearing scream shattered the warehouse air.
The guard standing over Cale's "collapsed" body never saw the strike. The sound was wet and final-a sickening CRACK as a masonry brick collided with his temple. The man's eyes rolled back as he folded like a broken chair.
The second guard froze, his laughter dying in his throat, but Cale was already a blur of motion. He exploded upward from the floor like a spring-loaded trap.
THUD.
The brick caught the man under the jaw in a brutal, rising arc. Teeth sprayed across the floor like gravel. The man hit the ground, his muffled shriek cut short as he joined his partner in the dirt.
Simon spun around, his fingers still trembling against the girl's skin. For the first time, the "King" looked small.
Cale stood in the center of the warehouse, a silhouette carved out of dust and blood.
He didn't pant. He didn't roar. He just stood there, the brick in his hand dripping dark, rhythmic spots onto the floor.
His eyes were the most terrifying part. They weren't filled with the heat of rage, but absolute zero emotion. By striking with such cold, sudden brutality, he had seized the only thing Simon relied on to lead: Fear.
The "uneasy" bullies in the back began to step away, their loyalty evaporating the moment they realized the prey could bite back.
The police officer lunged for his holster, but he was moving through water while Cale was moving through fire. Cale closed the gap in two predatory strides, driving the jagged corner of the brick straight into the officer's open mouth.
CRUNCH
The officer's head slammed back against the steel pillar. The "authority" he carried vanished in a spray of red as he slumped to the floor, his badge reflecting the dim, dirty light.
While the warehouse was paralyzed in shock, Cale straddled the officer's chest. He didn't look at the crowd. He didn't look at Simon. He raised the blood-slicked brick high and brought it down with a sickening, wet THUD.
Then again. THUD. And a third time. CRACK.
The sound of stone meeting bone echoed in the hollow silence of the warehouse. It was excessive. It was brutal.
The look on Daniel's face was one of pure, unadulterated horror. He wasn't looking at his friend; he was looking at a monster he didn't recognize.
Even Simon's most seasoned bullies stayed rooted to the spot, their breath hitching. In their world, there were rules to a fight-but there were no rules for a boy who had turned into a butcher.
That frozen second was all Cale needed.
The crowd finally broke their trance, a few of the "loyal" subordinates reaching for their bats to lunge, but they were already too late. Cale stood up in one fluid motion, the brick falling from his crimson-stained fingers.
Before they could take a single step, the heavy weight of the service pistol was already in Cale's hand. He didn't fumble. He didn't hesitate. He leveled the barrel at the center of the crowd, his eyes as cold and empty as the steel in his grip.
The arrogance that had filled the room minutes ago evaporated like mist.
Thirty people. Thirty bats and pipes. One gun.
In the cold math of a cramped warehouse, thirty doesn't mean anything when the person holding the trigger has already proven he's willing to use it.
The "warriors" in the back, the ones who had been laughing earlier, were the first to stumble. They didn't want to be the hero. They didn't want to be the first one to feel a bullet tear through their chest.
The unified front crumbled. The predators turned into prey, their eyes darting toward the exits as they began to back away, tripping over each other in their haste to escape the boy with the bloody face.
Cale ignored them. He shifted his aim, the black muzzle of the gun finding its final destination: the space between Simon's eyes.
"New rules, Simon," Cale said, his voice a low, vibrating growl that sucked the oxygen out of the room. "You're at the bottom of the list."