One turn, then another, repeated for hours. Apartment buildings and community houses rose into the sky and cut the light. They were made in a way that created dozens of minuscule pathways meant for easy transportation. But all it served for was a complex labyrinth.
Mark loved it.
His legs felt like butter, his lungs burned and heaved, but Anton was finally gone.
It took longer than he expected, but there wasn't much of a choice.
The damned soldier had some sort of vest that looked bulletproof and was carrying an automatic rifle. Confronting him would have been deadly at best.
Luckily that same heavy equipment slowed him down, so Mark was able to flee in the end. What's frightening is that Anton was still able to keep up for so long, even with the heavy arms.
Slowing down to a walk, he silently stepped out of the urban maze and onto the sunlit streets. He spread his arms and inhaled the rancid city air. Beside him sprawled dozens of wretches who had long lost the energy to stand.
Why couldn't the army go after these guys instead? They had nothing better to do. Or did such an action appear to them as thrashing hollow husks?
'Might as well go to the warehouse. And... maybe I should stay there for some time. That pest is just going to keep coming back to my house."
He scratched his chin.
'Am I going to become homeless?'
The future was dreary indeed.
...
People were walking into the massive warehouse, their mood as solemn and their faces rigid, they all seemed like soldiers heading off into battle.
Mark joined them and walked in tandem with the crowd. The closest people greeted him while others further away gave him a look of recognition and a nod. His efforts at pretending to be a socialite had paid off. Though, becoming well-known wasn't of much value to him; at least, not at the moment, nor with these people. It was like being on a stranded island and becoming acquainted with the local animals. No matter how many connections he made, they wouldn't help him leave his precarious situation.
Inside, people were scattered across the wide building. There were a lot of shouts and chaos was rampant, yet it was all organized.
They were fighting, or sparring. It was hard to tell the difference when they were all coming at each other with the ferocity of hounds.
The people entering saw the scene and hurriedly did the same. A lot of people came to Mark, ready to ask him to partner up, but hesitated when they saw that others were doing the same.
Still tired from Anton chasing him through the streets, Mark looked for the weakest person who wanted to fight him.
But before he could choose, the crowd abruptly broke apart to reveal an intimidating man walking through.
"Hey Aaron."
His friend smiled.
"Come with me."
With no reason to not, Mark followed him to the middle of the room.
There, space was allotted to a man who stood alone.
It was the other attendant- the one who had tested Mark when he first joined the gang.
"Here he is Billy. Have at him."
Billy nodded.
"Wait- what?"
Mark looked at Aaron, who simply shrugged and walked away.
'That traitor!'
He looked back at Billy. The attendant cracked his knuckles.
"Let's start."
The man wasted no time and lunged with startling speed, throwing a punch in the process.
Mark sidestepped and grabbed the man's wrist before jabbing at Billy's face. He landed the hit but his wrist hand was shook off in the process.
Both of them were an arm's length away. Rather than moving backward, Mark stretched his mind and pressed his assault.
Billy put up his hands and blocked his unrelenting blows.
Not wanting to waste energy, Mark stopped his offense for a moment, then watched as his opponent became clouded in brazenness and immediately threw a heavy straight.
He ducked and caught the attendant wide open, then precisely smashed his fist right into the poor man's gut.
It was surprising to see that the attendant was resilient enough to take that hit and suppress the influence his pain had, swallowing the bile that rushed to his mouth before attempting a grab
The action was easily avoided.
Mark calmly walked back and watched as Billy's mentality crumbled to his ability. Reckless punches were thrown one after another, each parried and returned with jabs of his own.
His actions quickened while the attendant slowed, each punch becoming increasingly ruthless while the defense cracked like glass.
But there was still a formidable spirit. It almost seemed like the man had reserves of energy in his mind that were waiting to be called upon.
He was caught off guard while raining punches when suddenly the attendant threw away his defense and reached forward in desperation, grabbing the back of Mark's head and pulling him close.
A fist took up all of his sight as Billy rammed it right into his nose, bursting blood vessels and causing his head to buzz.
Mark was not knocked back, as the hand was still clamped to his neck, so he also disregarded his defense.
He uppercutted the attendant and kicked him away.
They kept their distance and took a few breaths.
Then, Billy rushed forward with a guttural shout. His mind was shrouded by a burning fire that had been kindled by constant manipulation.
The rest was simple.
Avoiding the attack, Mark waited until the man came to a stop, before swiftly closing the distance and striking at the solar plexus.
Before Billy could register the pain, his shin was mercilessly kicked and he fell to the floor.
...
Mark stood in the middle of the warehouse.
He panted laboriously, wiping the blood that was trailing from his nose.
Inside his head, a perpetual ringing tormented his mind.
Only when that faded did he see the surroundings to which he was previously blind.
Their eyes were locked to him whether it was his front, sides, or behind.
They soundlessly appraised the victor.
Somewhere along the line, the silence turned to shouts and cheers.
Hiding his pains, Mark basked in the reverie created by his peers.
Contrary to the grave atmosphere from when he entered, the air was now filled with renewed vigor.
It was that moment Aaron returned.
"Part! The boss is here!"