hurricane

Fighting was Zeke’s only option. He’d down his fair share of running before, but even then, a fight had been waiting for him at the end of the road. So it saved him time to just face it head on rather than delaying the inevitable. By this point, it was in his blood, adrenaline never failing to pump him up in a fight. It was more than just instinct; it was survival. He never would have lasted a day on the streets if he hadn’t learned how to properly defend himself. Now, when he fought, he got to live another day and got the thrill of the fight all in one package. Two birds with one stone. He had little other skills to speak of, so he thought it was only reasonable that he make use of the one that he excelled in. Others would judge him for it, sure, but he gave zero shits about much of anyone else. If he had been the friendly sort, he probably would have made it through high school. Would have found some decent job that didn’t pay well, but made ends meet. He would have been miserable. Because he wasn’t the friendly sort and he knew it, embraced it, owned it. And he also wasn’t the type to be yanked around on a chain and Maverick may have saved him from the streets when he’d first been thrown on them, but Zeke had long ago made up for that, paid his debts, and it was time for him to move on and he’d make Maverick accept that by any means possible. 

But first, he had to make it out of this alive. There was no stopping like the strange girl was shouting for, because Zeke didn’t know how to put on the breaks once he’d stepped on the gas. He had to be forced to stop, which was what happened when the breath was being choked out of him. There was no white flag to throw into this ring and his fingernails dug into the man’s forearm, trying to pry him away. But his strength was zapped from both his actual match earlier and now the blows that he had encountered in the last few minutes. And there wasn’t much he could do when he was stuck in a firm hold like this. His mind was racing, attempting to come up with a solution, but oxygen wasn’t getting to his brain and panic was setting in. He could hear the skirmish behind him, the girl throwing herself into something that she shouldn’t. This man was burly, muscle, which would make him slow, but gave him the upperhand in these situations. 

Then he heard the crash, the shatter of glass, and he was let go, gasping for air as soon as he was released and leaning down, hands holding him up as he caught his breath. Turning to discover the man out cloud, he then glanced over his shoulder up at the girl that had just saved his neck. Just when one debt was paid, it seemed he now would owe another. Zeke sat up and got up to his feet, grinding his teeth. Who did this girl she think she was? Instead of being filled with gratitude, Zeke was weary, almost irritated by this girl and her brave actions. He’d never asked her to do that. “I’m fine,” he replied gruffly, though the wince he gave said otherwise. His back was howling at him and he was quick to move and lean up against the wall, one eye clenched shut. He looked at the fallen thugs. “You should get out of here before someone calls the cops.” 

It was the butterfly effect she found so fascinating that played with every part of one’s life, every decision made and every step taken. It made her excited, a deep fascination for how easily her life could’ve been different based on a small choice she made, years ago, how turning left or right could’ve kept her from maybe losing her apartment’s keys two days ago and how she would’ve never hit a guy in the head with a bottle if she had decided to skip her route that night. How she would never have stopped that fight and then she would’ve probably seen the guy’s picture on the deceased page or even the front one; however, even though she didn’t want the details, whatever he did to piss them off, whoever the boss he talked about was, she sure as hell hoped he wasn’t going to get jumped again. Sure, he was a stranger, but she didn’t want to see anyone hurt -- whether they were her best friends or someone she saw crossing the street in a very dangerous way. It was going to get her hurt, frustrated and sad more often than some people but she couldn’t control it.

Kayla didn’t know what had caused the fight between the three men and, honestly, she didn’t care either, not after thinking well about it -- she wanted it to stop, not know the details behind every thrown punch between the three fighters. And she had managed to make it stop by doing something she never thought she’d do, never in a million years, especially to save someone that apparently didn’t want to be saved, not by the way he had both talked and looked at her. The brunette’s mind reminded her that she could probably have cut herself while holding the broken bottle and quickly, her movements sharp and fast, she looked at her hands, the palm and the back, to make sure that no crimson liquid that belonged to her was on it or on her wrists. 

Eating the pavement was never his idea of a good time. His cheek was dug into the tar road, rock pebbles piercing against the thin layer of skin. Fucking lowlives, having to gang up on him just so that they could have a shot of taking him down. If these were a real, legitimate match, they had to know that they didn’t stand a chance. They were so low on the food chain that they weren’t even worth fighting under normal terms, but they were trying to force his hand. But Zeke was no longer Maverick’s dog and he would not bend his head in submission so easily. It would take a lot more than a pole to his back to keep him down. Adrenaline rushing through his veins to help him forget the pain, he had been about to stand up when he heard a feminine voice ring through the night air. He couldn’t see her as the two men turned their heads to look at the approaching stranger and he had to curse under his breath. Was this chick going to call the cops? It would get him out of this predicament, yes, but it would lead to a whole bunch of other problems that Zeke didn’t have the patience nor means to deal with. What the hell was she doing speaking up two burly men anyway, especially when one was armed?

When one of the men was pushed away, Zeke could make out the girl. She was short, didn’t seem to have much muscle definition to her, and was very likely to get her ass whooped if she lingered at the scene for too long. These kind of guys didn’t have any qualms against hurting defenseless women. “Who the hell is this?” asked one of the men as Zeke got to his knees, shakily, before he stood up and wiped at the rubble that stuck to his cheek. Zeke had no answer, considering he didn’t know her, had never even seen her before, but he had enough sense to take the chance he was given, quick to curl his hand into a fist and connect it with the man who hadn’t been pushed to the side. He Hit him right in the jaw, sending him stumbling. But Zeke didn’t let the opportunity slip and he grabbed the man’s shirt, keeping him close so he could land a few more punches. 

“Tell that bastard boss of yours that I’m not some bitch that he can get to bend to his will from some cowardly tactics like this,” Zeke’s lip curled unpleasantly, his back turned to the other man, left vulnerable in the moment. “That is, if you even have the ability to speak after this.” With one more forceful punch that left his knuckles feeling slightly bruised, he thought that he had refigured the first man’s face enough. The man fell just for the second, bigger man to come up from behind Zeke, wrapping an arm around his neck and putting him into a chokehold.

Kayla gulped, looking at the tall man that had asked who she was. The girl was scared, yet she stood as tall as she could, even if it wasn’t even to be taller than the men before her. She had always hated violence, her parents always preaching that that wasn’t the answer to anything -- and she fully believed them, that nothing good could come out of people beating each other up for one reason or the other. Self-defense was alright in her book but that was only excusable if it was a fight or flight moment and the latter wasn’t an option; and that alone was why her body ran before her mind could think, right towards the lion den and soon after Kayla found herself in the midst of a guy fight, men that could easily resemble two gorillas when it came to their body strength right before her, ready to strike if need be. As far as she was concerned, however, their fight had not been fair and just the thought of walking past it and ignoring the fact that the other guy was being beaten half to death wasn’t even possible in her mind -- she couldn’t done that but she knew she wouldn’t sleep that night, wondering if the boy would be on the news the next day, his body the front page. 

Before she could even utter a word, she saw the guy that was on the floor launch himself towards the other and she instinctively let out a small scream as she stepped back, looking at the fight with her eyes widened. “Stop! Stop it!” She shouted, just watching as the other punched the other man’s face in and talked -- she didn’t get anything he had said however, his voice seemingly being heard as if she was at the end of a tunnel and he was on the other end; her face was in a state of fear and shock, yet her body went against the flight instinct (though it would only be fair if the other got a few punches in). Everything was happening fast, right in front of her, yet her surroundings were seemingly in slow motion -- maybe it was just her mind trying to wrap itself around what was happening in front of her and not being as fast as it ought to be to not fall behind. She didn’t blame herself, however, she didn’t have to be used to the aggressiveness and the violence that had been displayed right in front of her the last minute or so. 

“No!” Kayla shouted as she saw the bigger man put the other in a chokehold -- without knowing what overcame her and unaware that she still held the bottle in her hand, one that she had picked up just in case she had to defend herself, the brunette walked over and tried to push the man as he held the other by the throat, grunting as her strength was not enough. She had to go with the last resort and shaking, she hit the man on the head with the bottle as hard as she could and soon after, she felt the bottle break, the tension releasing itself on the man’s skull. Then, as she stepped back a few good steps and threw the rest of the bottle away, she saw as the man passed out right in front of her. Then, she hurried to the other guy’s side, standing a step away from him. “Are you okay?”

Zeke knew he was being followed. Street smarts were something he’d gained in all of his time on the streets. He’d been roaming these streets since he was barely sixteen with nothing to his name and his quick head his only possession, his hands his only weapons. Every time he walked past a streetlight, he could see the silhouettes of the people following him shortly thereafter out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t turn around, however, and kept up his brisk, casual walk. His knuckles were already bloody and red, wrapped up after his fight. There was a scratch across his upper cheekbone and he could feel bruises blossoming under his clothes. He wasn’t looking for any trouble. Especially since he wasn’t going to get paid for it. He was strong mostly in the sense that he was quick-witted, had instincts. But he wasn’t a fool. He knew trying to take on these two men when he was drained of energy was a fool’s task to try and take on with any confidence.

He could take a good guess at who they were, too, had seen them earlier in the crowd. Some of Maverick’s men. When was the guy going to give it up? Did he figure since Zeke was no longer making him money that Zeke wasn’t allowed to make money on his own? Self-entitled prick, that’s all Maverick had ever been. And his men were cowards, stalking a man from behind, no doubt waiting for the right opportunity to strike. Which they apparently found when Zeke turned the corner. His back muscles had tensed from the preparation of the attack, but it still left him near breathless when he was hit in the back with a metal pipe, leaving him stumbling and knocked down to his knees.

The men said nothing as they began to assault him, one moving to the front of him to kick him in the gut. Zeke let out a yell, head spinning as he clenched his fingers at his side, attempting to get up before his head was pushed back down, colliding with the asphalt of the road. Stumbling further, wrapped his arms around the knees one of the men quickly, bringing the man down onto his back and throwing a punch to his gut.  He was able to sit up at an angle before the second man was on him, the pipe from before colliding with his shoulder, causing him to cry out as he slid.

Fuck, how was he going to get out of this one?

Everything around her made her anxious sometimes; there were days where everything in her mind overwhelmed her and her body seemed but a shell of what it once was, at the beginning of the night, lively and with as much energy as she could -- it had been a good day, nothing had made her morning bad and her afternoon worse so she had nothing to complain about. People weren’t rude, her boss was in a good mood and her co-workers didn’t leave her all the work. At least the end of her shift was near its end, though she couldn’t have asked for a worse ending of her night, despite the fact that she could go one for at least an hour more. Kayla put on her jacket and said goodnight to everyone whose turn it was to stick around and close the place -- she had done it last time and things were organized enough so she didn’t have to do something a time more than she ought to. Be careful, the bartender had told her, the night was still young and she knew the people that roamed the streets; hence why she asked a friend to at least teach her some things -- even if she was the worst fighter ever. 

A cloud of steam formed as she let out a sigh, looking both ways as she exited through the back of the place, walking down the alley way towards the main road and then turning right, walking her usual route -- there was something both safe and dangerous about having a routine; someone that might stalk another would know what they’d do next, they’d know what they liked and what they didn’t like. But Kayla liked her routine, she liked how safe she felt knowing where she was headed and the streets she stepped on. However, her routine walk got broken when she heard a fight, in one of alley ways she always thought to be creepy. Grunting, laughing and aggressive words were some of the things she could make out from what she heard echoing between the stone walls. 

Just as quickly as she froze, watching the scene for a few seconds, she then walked towards the men, picking up an empty an empty bottle she found, smelling the fresh beer in it, a scent she was so used to. “Hey! Leave him alone!” she yelled, pushing one of the men away from the boy that lied on the ground, helpless --  two against one, fight of cowards and nothing else. “Two against one is hardly fair, don’t you think?” she told the man, hiding the bottle behind herself -- she didn’t know what had become of her, why she had done that for a complete stranger, but she’d like to think that if she had been in the same situation, someone would do the same for her.