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Part IV: "Reverse the Hunt"
Summary: Elias uses a turnstile, shadowed alley, and reflective window to double back and swipe the taller teen's wallet. They corner him in a loading bay, but he disables the lead attacker with a stray tool and flees.
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Part IV: "Reverse the Hunt"
The stairwell narrowed fast, boxed in by brick and chain-link fencing, the smell of piss soaked deep into the concrete. Elias descended three steps at a time, not running, but not slow either—enough momentum to say I'm not afraid, just cautious.
The steps curved around a blind corner where two access corridors met. He passed between them, catching the shimmer of a storefront window on the far side. Reflected in the glass: both shadows behind him, closing in. The tall one stepped faster now, getting cocky.
Good.
At the base of the stairs, Elias passed a dented steel turnstile meant to block passage. Its locking arm had been snapped long ago—still looked functional, though. He pushed through it slow, letting it creak and rattle behind him.
Then, he waited just past the corner of the utility hallway. The moment the taller teen passed through, Elias brushed lightly against him.
Contact: 0.7 seconds.
A slip of two fingers. Soft. Fast. No eye contact.
He walked on.
Behind him, a whisper: "Yo, where'd my—"
Too late.
Elias kept moving, stepping over a broken drain cover and slipping into a narrow side alley lined with recycling bins and the smell of stale fries. He passed by a short set of steel stairs that led up to the back of a pizza shop, then turned sharply into a delivery bay just beyond it.
Dead end.
He waited.
Footsteps behind him. Fast. Sloppy.
"You think that's funny, man?" It was the tall one now, voice puffed with anger. "Gimme my shit back."
The other boy hung back, leaning on a post like this was just entertainment. Watching.
Elias didn't move.
The tall one advanced. "Yo, you dumb or just slow? I'm talking to—"
Elias's foot hit a small metal pipe on the ground. Just long enough to use.
He crouched and picked it up slowly, as if inspecting it. Didn't look at the teen until the last second.
Then: one pivot. Left foot planted. Elbow tight. Pipe forward.
Crack.
The sound wasn't dramatic. Not a movie sound. Just bone against bone with the clean rhythm of something accurate.
The tall teen dropped to one knee, clutching his thigh. Not screaming. Just groaning, stunned.
"Mother—"
Elias was already past him, ducking under the short boy's reach. Didn't stop running until he hit the other side of the alley, hopped a cinderblock wall, and dropped into a narrow pedestrian path.
His breath was steady. Measured.
He turned the corner, slid into the shadows beneath a freight platform, and knelt.
The wallet: three cards, some cash, and a transit pass. He slipped the cash, ditched the rest.
Let them cancel their cards.
He sat in the dark for a moment, listening to his heartbeat.
Calm.
Then a strange sensation hit—new, raw, deep.
Not fear. Not guilt.
Satisfaction.
He hadn't planned to fight.
But when it came?
He hadn't flinched.
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Final moment/image: Elias crouches beneath the loading platform, hands still steady, knowing—absolutely—that whatever he is now, it isn't ordinary, and pretending otherwise won't last long.
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