(Author's Note: The symbol ₵ represents the Crest, the currency in this world. For reference, ₵1 is equivalent to $1. Okay we that been said, let's head back to the story)
Rian stepped out of the casino with a wide grin plastered across his face. The cool evening breeze brushed against his skin as he clutched his winnings tightly. He had entered Bluff City with only ₵1,200 in savings, a cautious gamble that could have easily gone wrong. Now, he was heading home with ₵5,600—an incredible turnaround that left him giddy with excitement.
"Finally," he muttered to himself, his steps light and carefree. "NeonEdge 3, here I come." The thought of the sleek, high-tech gadget he'd been dreaming of brought a triumphant smirk to his face. He could already picture unboxing it, the glow of its cutting-edge design lighting up his room.
His elation was momentarily tempered by the realization that his parents would undoubtedly ask him how he had come by such a significant sum of money. Tilisha, his mother, had a sharp eye for sniffing out deceit, and Aston, his father, wasn't one to let things slide. Still, Rian had already begun crafting a story to pacify them—something about helping a friend with a tech project and earning a generous reward. "Yeah, that should work," he thought, his confidence bolstered by his recent success.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple as the evening deepened. Rian quickened his pace. The last thing he wanted was to give his mother a reason to scold him for being out too late. Taking a shortcut through a quieter neighborhood seemed like the best way to get home faster.
As he turned into a narrow alley that cut through several blocks, his thoughts drifted back to the casino. The thrill of the game, the calculated risks, the rush of winning—it all felt surreal. He couldn't help but chuckle softly, his steps echoing faintly in the quiet street. He had always considered himself a cautious guy, but tonight, he had proven he could take bold chances when it mattered.
Just as he was rounding a corner, his thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a group of four men gathered a few yards ahead. All four of these guys had one thing in common—a particular color scheme of Burnt Orange with Charcoal Gray, accented by a cracked dagger emblem. The Rustborn gang was notorious for their stranglehold over these parts, known for shaking down anyone unfortunate enough to cross their paths at night. Tales of their violence and intimidation circulated like urban legends, but the reality was far worse for those who dared to trespass into their territory. Some wore scarves, others hoodies. Rian's stomach sank as recognition hit him. These were the Rustborn gang.
Out of excitement, Rian had taken a shortcut that no non-gang member should have ventured into at this hour. This was one of the Rustborn's hangout spots, a place to avoid unless you had a death wish. His nerves betrayed him, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath. His heart pounded as he realized the danger of his situation. At this point, he didn't have the guts to keep moving forward. Turning back seemed like the safest option—if he could do it without drawing attention.
Just as he began to pivot, a low, drawling voice called out, "Oi, where you goin', son? Keep walkin'." The slang-heavy tone was casual, but the underlying threat was clear.
Rian almost pissed his pants. His back was still turned to them, his body frozen with fear. He was drenched in sweat, and his mind raced with panicked thoughts. Obey? Run? He couldn't decide, and the weight of his wallet pressed heavily in his pocket, a painful reminder of what he stood to lose.
Before he could act, another voice, sharper and more annoyed, cut through the air. "Yo, you deaf or somethin'? We said, come here!"
"Fuck," Rian muttered under his breath, his heart pounding. In a split-second decision, he chose to run. He couldn't afford to lose the money he had worked so hard to win. Without looking back, he prepared to sprint in the direction he had come from.
But just as he launched himself forward, two more figures emerged from the shadows behind him. One leaned casually against a wall, his Burnt Orange scarf swaying slightly as he blocked Rian's path. "Where you think you goin', kid?" he asked with a sneer.
Rian skidded to a halt, his wide eyes darting between the two men behind him and the four in front. In a moment of sheer panic and despair, he blurted out, "I'm dead. That's it. Game over."
The gang members started to close in, their laughter echoing in the dimly lit alley. One of them, his face twisted in mock amusement, asked, "What's the matter? You scared or somethin', princess?"
The others roared with laughter, one slapping his knee. Another chimed in, "Relax, kid. We don't go for guys, so you can stop panickin'." Their laughter only grew louder, but Rian's fear didn't subside. He tried to force a nervous smile, wiping sweat from his brow.
"P-please," Rian stammered, his voice trembling. "I mean no harm—"
The gang burst into laughter again. One of them stepped closer, his grin widening. "Oh, you mean no harm, huh? So you think you could harm us if you wanted to?"
Realizing how his words had been twisted, Rian cursed himself internally. "N-no," he blurted. "I—I say rubbish when I feel like using the toilet. Sorry." His panicked response elicited chuckles from the group.
One of the men, who Rian just noticed was the only one not wearing any Rustborn colors—dressed instead in a simple long sleeve and pants—stepped forward. His voice was calm but carried an edge. "What're you doin' here, huh? You know this part of the street isn't for people like you. So why'd you come?"
Rian gulped, his throat dry. "My grandma's sick," he said quickly. "I—I was trying to get home fast, and I swear, I forgot this was your territory. Please, just let me go. I won't ever take this route again. I swear." His hands were trembling as he clasped them together in a pleading gesture.
The man in plain clothes tilted his head slightly, studying Rian's face. "You forgot, huh?" he said, his tone dripping with skepticism.
Rian quickly hurried to reply, "Yes, I forgot, and it won't happen again." The man nodded as though he understood, stepping back. Relief washed over Rian, and his heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank God," he thought. These guys were more understanding than he'd feared. As his mind raced with blessings for his grandmother, even resolving to call her once he got home, his thoughts were interrupted by the man in plain clothes saying, "Search him."
Rian's heart sank. "I don't have anything valuable," he said quickly, his voice trembling.
The man smirked. "Standard protocol for trespassing," he said, gesturing casually. The others laughed as one of the gang members in a hoodie stepped forward toward Rian.
Rian instinctively began walking backward, but the gang member behind him shoved him forward. "Watch where you're goin', kid," the man sneered.
By now, the hooded gang member was beside Rian, his hand outstretched to search him. Panic flared in Rian, and before he could stop himself, he slapped the man's hand away. The reaction shocked everyone, including Rian himself.
The hooded man stared at his hand, then at Rian, his expression darkening. "Oh, so you wanna fight now?" he said, his voice low and menacing. The gang members around him began to jeer.
Rian's heart raced as he realized what he'd done. He recalled the basic defense skill videos embedded in his memory from his ZephyrTab. But despair filled him—those skills were designed for one-on-one encounters, not against six gang members.
The hooded man's face twisted in anger. He stepped forward, his fist swinging at Rian. By pure reflex, Rian dodged. The move startled the man, and his embarrassment only fueled his rage.
"Please," Rian begged, his voice cracking. "Just let me go!"
But the hooded man was past reason. He rushed at Rian, feinting a punch. Rian dodged again, but this time, the man followed up with a calculated strike to Rian's stomach. The blow landed hard, and without the protection of an athletic build, Rian doubled over in pain, gasping for air as the gang members laughed around him.
Before Rian could catch his breath, the hooded man delivered a swift kick to his side, knocking him off balance. Rian fell to the ground, still clutching his stomach in pain. The hooded man spat on the floor before bending down to search him. Moments later, he pulled out Rian's wallet and flipped it open.
The man whistled, his eyes widening as he pulled out five Bronze bills. "Yo, this kid's loaded," he said, holding up the money for everyone to see.
The other gang members' laughter turned to surprise. "Damn, kid," one of them said. "Didn't know you were this rich."
The man in plain clothes chuckled. "Guess we'll be expectin' you in the future, rich boy," he said, a sly grin spreading across his face. The others erupted in laughter again.
Rian, still curled on the ground, began pleading. "Please, don't take it! That's all I have!"
His words were ignored as the hooded man stuffed the money into his pocket. Before anyone could say more, a sharp, commanding voice rang out from the shadows. "Hey! Bullies!"