Mark continued to walk forward, seemingly leaving himself vulnerable. The figure following him was obscured in the night.
As much as he wanted to turn around and try to get the better of his pursuer, he knew firsthand that greed is what leads to defeat. So instead, he was waiting to have the other person initiate first.
He reached out with his mind and instigated boldness and pride in the cloaked figure. Blood coursed through his body as Mark prepared to fight or flee. The mystery of his pursuer was the most dangerous part, as his chances of winning were indeterminate.
The obscured figure sped up, still walking but now at a speed nearing that of a jog.
'Now!'
Mark abruptly pivoted and used the force from the turn to launch his fist, wind whistling in his ears from the movement.
"Hey-ugh!"
As the pursuer began to speak, Mark's fist was already at the tip of his nose.
A crack echoed through the nearly empty street, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground.
Mark's eyes widened in shock.
'Shit.'
From the sound of the voice, he recognized the man whose nose he had just broken. He flew to the man's side.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please forgive me!"
He clasped his hands together
"I beg you!"
While trying to beg with every ounce of sincerity he could muster, inwardly he was raging.
'This bastard does everything like a damned mobster!'
The idiot before him, Aaron, was part of the most dominant gang in the poorer parts of the city. He was uneducated but had deep talent when it came to intimidation and extortion. The problem was that he had little street smarts, and was socially inept in regular situations.
Mark's problem, however, was that this idiot was the right-hand man of the gang's boss.
Hopefully the relationship he carefully cultivated with him would be enough to earn his forgiveness.
While apologizing, he quickly changed the emotions he was drawing out, now trying to increase feelings of ease and forgiveness. Adrenaline was a tough enemy to fight against, Mark himself succumbed to it when he rashly punched the man in the face.
Aaron let out a grunt, then a sigh, and began to get up. He looked at Mark in the face and smirked.
"Nice punch"
"So... everything is fine?"
"No, a dollar for the broken nose"
Mark looked at the nose he had just punched, blood was running from both nostrils like two creeks. The gangster's demand was reasonable enough, lenient if anything.
He pulled out a dollar and gave a few coins as extra. Aaron's smile widened. It looked rather haunting as blood trickled over it, staining his teeth in the process.
"You really should join our gang."
"Not this again. I'm telling you, that stuff isn't for me."
Mark was used to this man sneaking up on him. It's how he learned to recognize if he is being pursued. But this time it occurred at night, a time when Aaron usually isn't doing his rounds.
'And for good reason too.'
Aaron stood up and rolled his shoulders.
"Anyway, that isn't why I'm here. Before you graciously punched me-"
"Sorry"
"-I was going to ask about Tom. The fatass hasn't reported to the boss yet and is probably up to some weird shit again. You seen him?"
Mark shook his head.
"Nope"
The gangster sighed and began to walk in the other direction. He waved his hand as he departed.
"If you see him make sure to tell me."
"Yeah, no problem."
Mark watched the receding figure, darkness once again drove the figure into obscurity.
He lied.
Earlier today, Tom died at his hands.
The memory was rather pleasant despite its gruesomeness.
On a street in the afternoon, a drunken man was making his rounds when he spotted Mark cowering near the alley. A sensation of ecstatic dominance surged as he turned and began to approach the brown-haired man.
Mark's pale black eyes shone with fear as he watched the drunk advance toward him. He fled into the alley.
Everyone passing by was already used to such a scene. In this area, law was made by the gangs, the land was claimed by those who predated on the weak.
After having retreated a few hundred steps, Mark found himself at a dead end.
Tom drew closer with victorious glee, his belly bouncing, the weight of his steps resounding across the narrow stretch. Shadows crawled around the area, the interstice of the two tall buildings left little room for light.
Suddenly, Mark rushed forward. A sense of surprise surged in Tom's mind as his drunken reaction was halted even further.
Mark threw a punch toward the bulging belly with all the force he could muster.
It sunk deep.
Alas, it bounced back soon after, barely phasing the gangster as no visible injury was to be seen.
Tom laughed and threw a punch of his own, propelling the young man through the thin aisle.
'Never aiming for the stomach again'
Mark spit some blood and groaned while crawling backward, nearing the wall of the dead end. The drunk lazily walked forward with amusement sprawled across his face.
'There it is'
Mark grasped a handle on the floor, hiding it from view as he slowly stood up. He waited for the drunk to approach.
Tom was now a meter away from Mark when from the darkness he saw a metallic glint near the man's hand. He stopped in his tracks, feelings of shock and dread paralyzed him as he was once again rushed by the young man, now with a hammer in his hand.
He put his arms up when cold metal crashed into his head. The last thing he heard was a crack as his vision became black.
Mark watched the drunk collapse, wiped the blood off his chin, then rushed forward and brought the hammer down on Tom's neck. Another crack resounded through the desolate valley.
'That should do it.'
He returned to the dead end, grabbed a large sack, then put the hammer inside.
Adrenaline faded and pain now clutched at his stomach.
As he beheld the slightly bleeding body, exhilaration nearly overwhelmed him.
He had just rid this parasite from the world.
___
The young man opened his eyes, night winds played a melody in his ears.
His plan had worked perfectly. He poured countless efforts: memorizing Tom's route, finding the best place to suppress him, and then gathering the tools to do so. It all was worth it. Throughout the process, the drunk's reactions were exactly as he planned them to be.
Mark slowed down. He frowned as his eyes began to radiate a chilling ire.
'Don't get caught up on such a high.'
He approached his house. A modest two-story building. On the ground before it lay a fresh newspaper. Its cover read: "Success in the War: Brave Heroes Protect Our Nation Once More!"
Below the headlines, a colored poster depicted a poised soldier hoisting a flag high. The words "JOIN THE CAUSE" were below it.
How much propaganda has he seen by now? Well, at least they could be used as toilet paper if needed.
The young man sighed, closing his eyes for the briefest moment.
Mark knew a man who answered the call with joy, yearning to bask in the glory of conflict.
He saw the man once more on return.
It was a mangled, disfigured, bloody corpse.