Tom woke up to the sound of his father getting shot in the chest and to the view of a rifle barrel pointing at his face.
Seven years later.
It was dark at night in this alley that looked like a jagged scar between two ruined brick buildings. The walls were cracked, there was still a little bit of warmth from the day, and the location gave the hobo a nice shelter from the frozen wind.
A flickering street light at the end of the corridor bled out sickly yellow light just enough to vaguely illuminate the silhouette of Tom under his rags and cardboard boxes.
The young man with long, messy crimson hair, piercing green eyes, and pale skin with more freckles than trash around him was petite. However, even in that state and with the lack of food, Tom had managed to keep a fit build under these clothes, less as a fashion statement and more as a necessity for survival.
With the cold nibbling at his skin, having only a dirty and ruined old orange parka and a beanie hat, he was trying to stay awake no matter what. Tom knew very well that sleeping at night was a luxury he no longer had.
The skittering sound of a rat that passed his boot almost made him jump. He gripped his hands around the makeshift knife he had improvised with duct tape and some scrap metal sharpened by rocks. Just enough to not be completely dull and allow him to keep his face shaved.
That was enough to alert him to two thugs approaching him. One with a claw hammer and the other with a sledgehammer
It was too late to work on constructions, so Tom quickly got up with a jump, like a cat getting splattered with water.
The smaller one wielding a claw hammer with the pinkish skin was in his late 20s with a shaved head and just filled with different shitty black tribal tattoos. The cargo pants, the fingerless gloves, and the new black leather jacket he had did not match up.
The bigger one, at least two heads bigger than Tom with the sledgehammer in his hands, luckily, was not that muscular. More fat than anything, as most of his face was covered with a scarf and his body with a grey hoodie that could be used as a bed sheet on other occasions by its sheer size alone. However, the golden chain on his neck betrayed this humble look.
What really made Tom's whole body tense up was the girl behind them, with a phone in her hands, filming them.
Plump lips glossed up by a sticky blue lipstick and azure eyes behind big square glasses that perfectly contrast with her light skin complexion. She was wearing a red hoodie zipped up just low enough to show off her huge breasts, with the fabric of the white shirt under it stretching like it was begging for mercy. The denim hot pants clung to her hips like a second skin, making Tom wonder how she was able to withstand the cold with clothes that left so little to the imagination. Finally, there was her long ebony hair that cascaded under her black baseball cap.
"Hello guys, it's your girl C, and today with my hubbies we have a special show!" The girl purred into the phone, pointing to herself with the instrument distorting her face with a special filter at an angle that made it clear why she was dressing like that.
Tom thought fast, his brain already used to assessing the situation. Thugs with new expensive items, a girl filming in the background . . . they were making a product to sell, and he would become part of it.
"Hey! Buddy, no need to get so worried; we just want to talk," the smaller one said with a fake smile on his lips.
The bigger one pulled out a small candy bar from his pocket and offered it to Tom. "Yeah, just relax. Do you want some food?" He said, resting his big hammer on the dirty concrete floor.
He was outnumbered, he was rusty, he had worse equipment, and most importantly, he was tired.
Tom took a deep breath. ("Beggars can't be choosers,") The redhead mumbled to himself inside his head.
"Oh . . . right . . . sorry I got a little startled, you know . . ." he mumbled, his tone meek and weak as he took a step forward toward the big man, one of his hands under his parka.
The last sliver of fake calm died with that step. It was kill or be killed now.
As he expected, the second he took his eyes off the small thug, the claw hammer flew directly toward Tom's skull.
He quickly lowered his body and rolled out of the way, pulling his makeshift knife in a single motion. There was only one target in his mind as the thug who left the candy bar fell to the floor quickly grabbed his huge weapon. A single hit of that, and it was over.
A quick stab in the middle of the hand made him squeal in pain; ligaments and skin were cut as the rusted metal chunk bit him, making the thug unable to use his hands for a few seconds before the adrenaline kicked in.
Just as he was turning around to deal with the other, the smaller hammer struck his back, sending a shockwave of pain through his body. However, there was no time to stop or even think about the damage.
A second quick strike with the blade stabbed the surprised smaller thug on the thigh as Tom was falling to the ground. "Motherfucker!" the thug yelled, flinching and giving the hobo time to make some space.
The big one grabbed his hammer with a single hand and went to crush the redhead's skull; he kneeled on the concrete, but at the last second, he managed to roll out of the way.
"Tsk, just hurry up and kill him! The asshole ruined the shoot!" Celene yelled in the background as the sound of the sledgehammer cracking the concrete rumbled through the alley.
The fat one turned around to talk with the woman, thinking that Tom was done. "He stabbed me on the fucking hand!" He yelled as the hobo quickly jumped from his low position to tackle the smaller thug, taking advantage of his crippled leg.
"Told you to wear glo-" his words were cut short with the attack of the hobo as he was paying more attention to the wound on his legs than to him.
Another cracking sound exploded, this time the murderer hitting the floor with his back while his hammer flew through the air.
Before any other word could be muttered, Tom stabbed him in the neck. A precise and lethal strike to the carotid artery guided more out of muscle memory than a conscious decision.
As he saw the thug desperately trying to close the wound with his hands, Tom felt a push and then a crack. The bigger thug had struck him on his side with the sledgehammer to push him away from his companion.
The strike made him lose grip of his weapon; not only that, but breathing began to hurt as if hundreds of spines stabbed his lungs.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, call an ambulance!" The big thug yelled with clear dismay as he saw the other one bleeding out on the floor.
"Are you an idiot?! We are going to be sent to jail!" The girl yelled at him, clearly panicked by the view.
Unarmed and wounded, Tom got up with a jump, adrenaline kicking in and allowing him to overpower the pain for a few seconds.
Every muscle in his body coiled like a spring. Tom's feet began to dance in tiny, rhythmic hops, just an inch off the ground. Knees slightly bent, left fist guarding his chest, and his right one stretched just a little bit further. It was the first time in years that he went into this stance, but now that it was a 1 vs. 1, that was his only way out.
"Waaaaa waaaaaaaaaa, my friend got killed by a hobo!" Tom yelled at him with a clearly mocking tone, imitating the cries of a baby and with a teasing smirk. He couldn't allow them to think with a cold head.
"Fucking bastard!" The thug screamed at him and went to cave in his skull with the huge hammer.
A quick side step put Tom out of danger. The petite hobo movement was pure shit; rusted, slow, and predictable. But just using his smaller size and the lack of experience from the fat criminal, he quickly moved to his side to land a powerful jab on the liver.
It only took an instant for the man's body to lose his strength and shut down from the pain for Tom to land a powerful left hook on his chin, making him fall to the floor face up.
Just enough space and time for Tom to take the sledgehammer from his hand and then. . .
"Wa-wait!" He yelled, begging for mercy, as most of their victims did in the past.
There was only a loud cracking sound as an answer, followed by blood bubbling on the metallic edges of the hammer buried in his face.
[Congratulations! You have killed 50 people.]
[You unlocked a catboy system.]