FIGHT FIRST

Arin staggered back, his vision still spinning from the sudden fall. He looked up at his assailant—a towering man with a broad, hulking build. The dim, hazy lights of the smoking room cast long shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable.

The man sighed, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "Damn it. I missed."

Sayor, regaining his footing, shot up and glared at him. "Hey, dude, what the hell is your problem?"

Arin wasn't as quick to react. His instincts screamed at him that something was off. He darted a glance around the room, scanning the scene. And then he saw them—more figures lurking in the background. Silent. Watching. Accomplices.

His stomach twisted. This wasn't random. They were here for him.

Trying to stay calm, he gave Sayor a light tap on the shoulder, his voice barely steady. "Maybe it was just… a joke? Some dumb fun, right?" He forced a shaky laugh, eyes flicking back to the man, who simply stood there, unreadable.

No response.

Arin clenched his jaw. Bad sign.

Without waiting for another outburst from Sayor, he grabbed his friend's arm and started pulling him away. Get out. Now.

Sayor tensed for a second but quickly caught on. His gaze darted around the room, noticing what Arin had already figured out. They weren't alone.

They moved slowly, deliberately, making their way toward the exit. Arin could feel the weight of unseen eyes tracking their every step. His pulse pounded in his ears, each breath feeling like it could shatter the fragile silence hanging in the air.

Just a few more steps—

Then the mood in the room shifted.

Figures emerged from the shadows, stepping into the hazy neon glow. A wall of bodies, blocking their path.

They were surrounded.

The tension in the room thickened, suffocating. Arin and Sayor weren't just trapped—they were cornered. The exit was blocked, and the men standing before them had no interest in conversation. Their silence was louder than any threat.

Arin's mind raced. This is bad. Really bad.

The guys surrounding them weren't just bigger, they were leagues above him in size and build. Thick arms, solid frames. The kind of men who looked like they did this often, like they had put people in hospital beds before.

And worst of all, they weren't hesitating.

Arin swallowed hard. No talking. No warnings. No way out.

He leaned closer to Sayor, barely whispering, "We've got to get out of here. Somehow."

Sayor's breath was shaky, his hands clenched into fists even though Arin knew he had never thrown a real punch in his life. His friend was out of his depth, and even though Arin knew how to fight, these guys were way above his weight class.

The first guy,

the one who took the swing at Arin earlier, cracked his knuckles, stepping forward. A smirk tugged at his lips.

"We doing this the easy way," he muttered, voice thick with amusement, "or the hard way?"

Arin had a feeling they never intended to give them an easy way out.

The first punch came in hard, a blur of muscle and speed aimed straight for Arin's face.

He sidestepped at the last second, feeling the air shift as the fist barely missed him. Instinct took over.

Counter hook.

His knuckles crashed into the man's jaw, sending him stumbling back a step.

But the guy barely flinched. Instead, he let out a half-amused chuckle, rubbing his jaw like he had just been inconvenienced.

"Oh, we got a fighter here," he smirked. "Gotta charge extra for that."

Sayor's breath hitched. He had been hoping

praying

this wouldn't turn into an actual fight. But here they were, outnumbered, outmatched, and completely screwed.

He wanted to scream. This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go.

Arin, on the other hand, was locked in. Fully tense. Fully aware. That counter hook? He had thrown everything into it, but the guy had managed to roll with the hit, barely taking damage.

And now? Now they weren't playing fair.

Five guys. All of them moving in at once.

"Run!"

Arin barely got the word out before he and Sayor bolted.

They jumped over tables, kicked chairs out of the way, knocking over everything in their path as they raced for the exit.

But luck wasn't on their side.

A strong hand latched onto Arin's leg, yanking him backward. His body jerked, and before he could react—

WHAM!

His face slammed into the floor. Pain exploded in his skull. His vision blurred, ringing filled his ears, and for a second, his body refused to move.

Shit. That was bad.

"Arin!" Sayor's voice barely registered before

CRACK.

A bat to the temple.

Sayor crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

Arin fought through the haze, forcing himself to move. He had to get up. Had to fight back.

His fingers closed around something hard on the ground. A ceramic ashtray.

He didn't think. He just swung.

The ashtray smashed into the face of the guy holding his leg. The thug let out a choked yell, his grip loosening.

That was all Arin needed.

He crawled forward, scrambled to his feet, and turned to face the rest of them, vision swimming, blood pounding, and adrenaline surging.

This wasn't over.

The thug Arin had smashed with the ashtray staggered but didn't stay down. Blood dripped from a fresh gash on his face, and rage burned in his eyes.

With a furious roar, he charged—and behind him, the rest of his gang followed.

Arin's pulse spiked. He darted his eyes around, desperate for something, anything, to even the odds.

His hand closed around a stray beer bottle lying on a nearby table. No time to think.

SMASH.

The bottle shattered as he brought it down over the thug's face, shards flying everywhere. The man stumbled, clutching his face, but he wasn't stopping.

Before Arin could react, a freight train of muscle slammed into him.

The thug had tackled him. Hard.

Arin's back crashed onto the ground, knocking the air from his lungs. Shit. This was bad. Fighting from the ground was a death sentence, and these guys weren't giving him a second to breathe.

The tackler's weight pressed down on him, trapping him in place.

Panic surged.

His fingers tightened around the broken bottle's jagged neck.

No choice.

With a sharp thrust, he stabbed the glass deep into the man's arm.

A scream tore through the room. The thug howled in pain, his grip loosening just enough—

Arin rolled out from under him.

Just in time.

A bat swung down, slicing through the air, right where Arin's head had been.

Adrenaline spiked through his veins as he scrambled to his feet, barely avoiding the follow-up swing.

He was running on pure instinct now.

Arin's breathing was ragged. His head pounded, his body screamed in pain, but he couldn't stop moving not now. 

One of the thugs, the one with the bat, was closing in slowly, his grip tightening around the handle.

The other four were weaving through the tables and chairs, spreading out to cut off his escape.

They were going to trap him.

Shit.

Arin stumbled, his legs barely holding him up as he bolted through the room. He wasn't running toward an exit—there wasn't one. He was just running.

He knew the truth.

He couldn't fight them all.

He had barely made it through the first guy, and now there were four more, not sure if the fifth one was out of commission or not, closing in from all sides.

A glance over his shoulder told him everything he needed to know.

They were enjoying this.

Like lions playing with their prey.

And this time… it wasn't just bats.

Steel flashed in the dim light.

Knives.

Arin felt his stomach twist.

His back hit a wall. Cornered.

No way out.

Pain burned in his ribs, in his skull, in his lungs. He clenched his jaw, forcing down the scream threatening to escape.

They wanted to hear him break.

He wouldn't give them that.

But unless something changed fast…

This was about to get really bad.

Arin's heart pounded in his chest. His screams wouldn't matter—the music outside was too loud. No one was coming.

His eyes darted around the dimly lit smoking room, desperate for anything—a stick, a chair, a bottle—anything that could even the odds.

Nothing.

They were closing in.

Fuck it.

Arin dashed forward, straight at the thug with the bat.

The guy flinched, caught off guard. Instinct took over.

He swung.

Arin dropped.

The bat whooshed over his head, missing by an inch.

Before the thug could reset, Arin drove a jab straight into his balls.

A sharp, pained hiss tore from the guy's lips as he buckled, his grip on the bat loosening.

Arin grabbed hold of it, but the thug wasn't letting go.

The others charged.

No time.

Desperate, Arin sank his teeth into the thug's hand.

The man screamed, yanking away. That split second was all Arin needed.

He ripped the bat from his grip.

Now he was armed.

But the others weren't stopping.

And they still had knives.

CRACK!

The bat slammed into the thug's face, his nose shattering on impact. A spray of blood followed as the man stumbled back, dazed.

Arin didn't stop.

WHAM!

A second swing harder, faster crashed into his skull, sending him crumpling to the floor.

Arin's chest heaved, adrenaline surging through his veins. He gritted his teeth and let out a primal roar, a challenge, a warning

Come at me.

The thugs didn't hesitate.

They were done playing.

Knives out.

Arin moved.

He wasn't going to stand there and get gutted. He ran, weaving between chairs and tables, swinging the bat wildly to keep them at bay. One step ahead, one swing away from getting cornered.

But they weren't backing off.

Arin grabbed a stray beer bottle and hurled it at them.

SMASH.

Nothing.

They kept coming.

No hesitation. No fear.

Arin's stomach sank.

He was running out of Air.

Arin's arms burned as he swung the bat wildly, his muscles screaming from exhaustion. His legs felt heavy, his breathing ragged. He needed something anything to keep them at bay, but there was nothing left.

The thugs closed in.

His grip tightened on the bat. This was it.

Then

The door burst open.

A wave of noise flooded the room. The blaring music from outside, the murmur of the crowd and then

BANG! BANG!

Gunshots.

The police had arrived.

Arin's eyes snapped to the doorway. Sayor stood there, bruised but breathing, with two officers pushing through the gathered crowd.

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" one of them barked.

The thugs froze all except one.

The leader.

He charged.

Arin's guard was down for a split second, distracted by the sudden commotion.

Too late.

The thug lunged, knife flashing in the dim light.

Arin swung instinct taking over but missed.

Pain.

A sharp, burning slash tore across his chest.

His jacket soaked with warmth.

If not for the thick fabric, the blade would've gone deeper straight into his throat.

The thug stumbled back, off balance from his reckless strike.

Arin gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain.

The cops rushed forward.

It was over.

Arin sat on a stool near the bar, his shirt ripped open, exposing the bandaged slash across his chest. His hands trembled slightly, the adrenaline slowly wearing off. The metallic scent of blood still clung to him, mixing with the stench of alcohol and smoke.

Across the room, the thugs were being hauled up one by one, their wrists locked in cuffs as the officers shoved them toward the exit. Their leader, the one who had cut him, shot Arin a dark glare, but Arin barely acknowledged it. He was too drained to care.

Sayor hesitated before walking over.

"I… I'm sorry, man," he muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

Arin glanced at him. "For what?"

Sayor sighed. "For not helping you back there. When I woke up and saw you screaming with that bat in your hands, I knew we were screwed. Running for help was the only thing I could do."

Arin exhaled, shaking his head. "You did the right thing." His voice was hoarse. "We weren't winning that fight."

Sayor looked down, ashamed, but Arin clapped him on the shoulder.

"If you hadn't gotten the cops, I'd probably be in a ditch right now." He smirked weakly. "So… thanks."

Sayor let out a small laugh, still shaken. "Yeah… guess I saved your ass in my own way."

Just then, an officer walked over.

"We've sent word to your family," he informed Arin. "They are on their way."

Arin nodded, leaning back against the stool, feeling the exhaustion settle into his bones.

The fight was over. But he had a feeling this night was far from over.