Prologue

The metal fence rattled behind him as he vaulted over it, soles slamming into the ground with a dull thud. A twenty-year-old man, all bones and frantic motion, dashed through the night like a shadow in panic. His breath came in sharp bursts, arms pumping, legs screaming. Shaggy black hair stuck to his forehead, soaked in sweat, but he didn't stop, not even when his foot caught the edge of a loose cobblestone. He staggered, caught himself, and kept going.

Behind him: voices. Not many, but loud. Close.

"Guards," he hissed under his breath, though he didn't look back. Couldn't. Wouldn't.

He clutched at the sides of his head, wincing like his skull was being split open from the inside. The pain stabbed through him like lightning—blinding, cruel. His legs faltered. He tried to turn the corner of a narrow side street, but the world spun, and the headlights came too fast.

The car hit him with a sickening crunch.

Then

black.

*****

The first thing he tasted was metal. Blood? Copper? He didn't know.

He groaned, weak and confused, curled up like a dying animal in the corner of a filthy alley. His limbs trembled as he tried to push himself up. Didn't work the first time. The second time, he got to his knees. He looked around bleary, hollow-eyed.

"Where…?" he muttered, the word barely a whisper.

He didn't recognize the city, or the skyline above. The concrete stank of piss and old smoke, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.

He tried to stand again, but the pain in his ribs screamed at him. That car should've killed him. Should've. But he was alive. Somehow.

Footsteps. Laughter.

Three figures strolled into the alley. Hooded, casual, cruel. One of them flicked a half-smoked cigarette to the ground as they approached.

"Yo," one of them said, grinning. "What we got here? Fresh meat?"

The kid didn't reply. Just stared at them, wide-eyed. His back hit the wall.

Another stepped closer, kicking his foot. "You hear us, stringbean? You deaf or just stupid?"

Still, the kid didn't speak. His breathing quickened. He raised a hand, as if to shield himself.

The first punch came from the left. His jaw snapped sideways. Then another hit to his ribs. A third thug joined in, laughing as the boy folded, coughing up something wet.

"Look at him," one snorted. "Guy probably crawled outta some sewer. We shoulda brought him food."

Then a ringtone buzzed. One of them stepped back and pulled out his phone. He answered.

"Yeah?" A pause. "Oh, shit. For real? Yeah, yeah. Tell Penguin we're on our way."

He hung up and turned to his boys. "Job just came in. Big one. My brother says Penguin wants us now."

The others muttered, swore under their breath, but nodded. The leader glanced down one last time at the kid crumpled on the ground.

"Lucky day, huh? Don't die too slow."

They turned.

That's when it happened.

The boy stood.

Slowly.

No sound, no groan, no sign of pain. Just motion. Like something had turned off—and something else had turned on.

His shoulders straightened.

His breathing steadied.

His eyes—still the same frightened shape—became something else. Cold. Focused.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said, voice low. Even.

The thugs turned.

"What?"

He was already moving.

He lunged with terrifying speed, fists like blades. The first thug's nose exploded in blood. The second got a knee to the gut that folded him in half, followed by a precise elbow to the temple. The third barely got a hand in his pocket before the boy knocked the wind out of him with a kick that sent him flying.

It didn't last long.

It was clean. Brutal. Final.

When it was over, the alley was silent again—except for the boy's breathing.

He crouched over the bodies, searching their pockets. Took a wallet. A switchblade. A phone. He wiped his bloodied hands on one thug's hoodie and stood up, back straight.

But then, just as quickly—

He clutched his head.

"No, no, no—what did I—what the hell—"

His knees buckled. He dropped the knife like it burned him, stumbled backward until he hit the brick wall behind him. Eyes wild again. Chest heaving.

"Jesus," he gasped, staring at his hands. "What's happening to me? What did you do!" He shouted but no one answered

He turned and vomited in the corner.

The alley was quiet again. The city didn't care.

***

If this ever gets uploaded then I hope whoever is reading this likes it!