The next evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the compound was bathed in the dim glow of artificial lights, Rion found himself back on the streets of Coca town.
The air as always was thick with the scent of grilled meat, spices, and the faint stench of uncollected garbage, all combining into an oddly familiar comfort. He walked leisurely, his hands tucked into the pockets of his recently refitted bodysuit, the same one Young Master #1 had 'gifted' him after yesterday's altercation.
His stomach grumbled, interrupting his quiet thoughts. He hadn't eaten much since morning, and the tantalizing aroma of street food was impossible to resist. Soon enough, he spotted a roadside stall with a small crowd gathered around it.
A burly vendor stood behind a grill, expertly flipping skewers of kebabs over open flames. The sizzling sounds combined with the savory aroma to make Rion's mouth water, and without thinking twice, he sauntered over.
"Two kebabs," Rion said as he threw a few bills on the counter, nodding towards the freshly grilled skewers. The vendor grunted in acknowledgment, quickly wrapping the steaming meat in a piece of thin bread before handing it to him.
With a kebab in hand, Rion took a bite as he walked, savoring the spicy, greasy goodness. The first bite? Pure bliss. A spicy explosion of flavorsignited across his tongue—the tang of chili, the smoky char of the meat, the subtle sweetness of caramelized onions, all wrapped in the warm embrace of soft, slightly toasted flatbread. He practically felt his serotonin levels spike, a wave of satisfaction washing over him as if the kebab itself had given him a fist bump of approval.
The rich juices dribbled down his fingers, which he locked absentmindedly, unwilling to waste even a drop of the savory goodness. Each chew released another burst of heat and umami, the spices dancing on his taste buds in perfect harmony. Today's snack was a whopping 9/10.
Ifall else fails, I could just become a street food critic. Except I'd probably eat through all my earnings before I even wrote the first review.
As he continued strolling through Coca Town, the streets unfolded before him like a living, breathing entity. Small shops were nestled between crumbling buildings, their signs flickering erratically as if engaged in some morbid competition to see which would give out first.
The locals gathered in clusters, chatting under the weak amber glow of the streetlights, their laughter and banter mixing with the distant sounds of traffic. Rion took it all in, chewing his kebab thoughtfully.
And then it hit him. Not the kebab, though that was definitely hitting the spot too, but that strange, creeping sensation—like a mosquito buzzing just out of sight. He was being watched.
It wasn't the first time he'd noticed it. Ever since his visit to the local market earlier, in order to procure some supplies, the sensation had been creeping up on him. A prickle on the back of his neck, a tug in the corner of his mind—something was off, and he didn't like it.
I swear I always get dragged into all these shitty situations....
Rion acted as if nothing was wrong, continuing to eat his kebab as he wandered deeper into the town. He moved casually, though his eyes flicked to the reflections in the windows he passed. He couldn't spot anyone, but the feeling didn't go away. If anything, it got stronger.
After finishing the first kebab, Rion discarded the stick and took another bite of the second, all the while steering himself toward a deserted alleyway. He picked up his pace ever so slightly, keeping his posture relaxed, as if he were just on an aimless walk.
The alley was narrow, the dim glow of streetlights barely reaching the walls, casting long, distorted shadows across the ground. The moment he stepped in, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind him, followed by the unmistakable click of a weapon being unsheathed.
Ah shit, here we go again, he thought, already calculating his next move.
From the other end of the alley, two figures emerged from the shadows like they'd been practicing their entrances in front of a mirror. The first was a lanky man, his tall, skeletal frame covered in tattoos that wound up his arms and neck like snakes. He had an angular face, all sharp lines and sunken eyes, with a scowl that looked as permanent as his ink. In his hand, he brandished a sleek dagger, the blade glistening under the weak, ambient light.
The second man was broader, his shoulders thick and his muscles bulging beneath a leather jacket that looked two sizes too small. He carried a large, spiked bat over one shoulder like it was a toy. His face was almost square, with a mess of greasy black hair falling over one eye. A mean grin stretched across his features as he regarded Rion with undisguised malice.
"Well, well," the bat guy said, his voice low and gravelly. "Master Herbert sends his regards." He tapped the bat against the ground, the metal spikes clinking ominously. "Heard you messed with him yesterday. Now we gotta teach you a lesson, see?"
Rion's mind raced. Herbert? Who's that? Wait a minute.... Isn't that Young Master #1? Oh my gosh even his name sounds obnoxious...
Maintaining his calm demeanor, Rion took a small step back, his eyes flicking between the two men. He wasn't the type to engage recklessly, not when there were variables he hadn't accounted for.
His handguns were tucked under his jacket, but he wasn't going to go for them just yet. Instead, he let his mind run through his options. The alley was narrow, giving them less room to maneuver, but that also applied to him. If he was going to make a move, it had to be smart.
"This dagger," the lanky man continued, holding it up with a flourish, "is laced with fast-acting paralysis poison. One cut, and you're done for." He brandished it dramatically, the blade catching the light as he swung it around with a flick of his wrist.
Rion's face remained impassive. He'd heard that one before. Theatrics were par for the course with these low-level thugs. But what happened next caught even him off guard.
With a twisted grin, the lanky man brought the dagger to his mouth and licked the blade, his tongue running along the edge like it was a piece of candy.
Rion's expression shifted from calm to sheer bewilderment. "Did.... Did you just lick the poisoned blade?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.
«Crick Crick!!!»
For a moment, a cryptlike silence took hold. Only the distant sounds of chirping crickets trickled in.
The lanky guy stumbled back like he'd been slapped, then took a shaky step forward and froze, his dark chestnut eyes widening in horror as realization dawned. He looked at the blade, then at Rion, then at his companion, and then back at the blade, his fear mounting with every passing second. Rion's own eyes widened in surprise, the absurdity of the situation rendering him speechless.
For a few agonizing seconds, the three of them stood frozen, staring at each other in stunned silence.
About ten seconds later, the lanky guy's legs wobbled like jelly. He swayed unsteadily, flailing his free arm as if trying to grab onto invisible support.
"You... absolute bufoon," Rion muttered, still in disbelief at the sight in front of him.
Meanwhile, his broad-shouldered companion, the bat guy, stood there with his mouth half-open, trying to process what had just happened. His grip on the spiked bat tightened as he shifted his weight nervously, watching his partner's legs give out.
The gangster's legs gave out as he collapsed to the ground with a thud, the dagger clattering beside him. His complexion turned pale as his eyes rolled back, his body convulsing slightly.
Well.... This is awkward, Rion thought, scratching the back of his head. He glanced at the bat-wielding thug, who was still frozen, staring down at his fallen comrade.
Rion sighed, almost feeling sorry for the guy. "You know," he said, finally breaking the quiet, "they say never to work with idiots. But I guess that's something you'll have to learn the hard way."
The bat guy blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to pure rage as his knuckles whitened around the handle of the bat. His previously cocky demeanor vanished, replaced by an unsteady mix of panic and anger.
"You piece of—" the big guy snarled, his voice shaking with anger. "You think this is funny? That was my brother! I'm gonna bash your skull—!"
Rion, now fully aware of the escalating tension, cut him off with a raised hand, as if he was calling for a timeout. "Wait, wait, wait," he said, his voice filled with mock concern. "Let me get this straight. Your brother just poisoned himself in front of you, and your plan is… what? To also fail spectacularly? I'm sensing a family tradition here."
The big guy roared in anger, taking a step forward, but Rion continued, his tone light and breezy. "And that dolt sent you two? Man, I didn't think he could go any lower after yesterday. Poor taste in lackeys and sense."
The bat-wielding thug had enough. With a furious grunt, he swung the bat with all his strength, aiming to smash Rion's head into the concrete. But Rion was faster.
In one swift motion, Rion sidestepped the swing, the bat cutting through the air with a loud whoosh. The big guy's momentum carried him forward, leaving him off-balance for just a moment—exactly the moment Rion needed.
"Strike one," Rion quipped, his tone light.
Before the big guy could recover, Rion moved, bringing his knee up into the man's stomach with brutal precision. The thug doubled over, gasping for breath, but Rion didn't give him time to catch up. With a fluid motion, he grabbed the big guy's wrist, twisting it sharply until the bat slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground.
The thug growled in pain, trying to pull away, but Rion didn't relent. He spun the man around and slammed him face-first into the nearby wall with a solid thud. The guy slumped, dazed, but still conscious. Barely.
Rion released him and took a step back, shaking his head. "Strike two, big guy."
The bat guy groaned, slowly pushing himself up from the wall, his face scraped and bloodied. He turned to face Rion, his eyes burning with a mix of rage and humiliation. He stumbled forward, fists clenched, ready to charge again.
Rion sighed, rolling his eyes. "Alright, buddy. Let's just get this over with."
As the thug charged for the final time, Rion calmly sidestepped again, tripping the big guy with a swift kick to the ankle. The thug went crashing to the ground with a heavy thud, landing flat on his face.
Rion stood over him, arms crossed. "Strike three. You're out."
The big guy groaned in defeat, barely moving, his breaths labored as he lay sprawled on the cold ground. Rion crouched down next to him, patting him on the back.
"So, let me get this straight," he said, his tone conversational but dripping with sarcasm. "Young Master #1 sent you two to 'teach me a lesson,' and this is how you thought it'd go down? Was there a meeting beforehand? Did you guys brainstorm ideas? Or did you just say, 'Hey, let's wing it and hope for the best!'?"
The thug groaned, blinking up at him with unfocused eyes.
"Don't answer that," Rion continued. "I'm guessing it's the latter. You seem like a 'wing it' kind of guy."
The thug let out a low, defeated moan, clearly too exhausted to even muster a retort. Rion stood back up, dusting off his hands and giving one last glance to the alley where the two men now lay—one beaten to submission and one poisoned by his own hand.
Alright let's go ruin someone's evening....