Flash b
Abandoned Building, Evening
The crumbling structure loomed before them, its broken windows like empty eyes staring back. The once-familiar school uniforms, now torn and bloodied, seemed to mock them as they clashed in a frenzy of anger and fear.
Inside, the air reeked of decay and desperation. Fists flew, and the sound of shattering glass echoed through the deserted halls. The main characters, students from the same school, fought each other with a ferocity that seemed to consume them.
A boy, dressed in the same school uniform, rushed into the abandoned building, his eyes scanning the chaos before him. He pushed through the crowd, pleading with the students to stop fighting.
"Please, stop! This isn't solving anything!" he shouted, but his words were lost in the din.
The students, fueled by their anger and adrenaline, ignored him. One of them shoved him violently, and he stumbled backward, his head spinning.
Undeterred, the boy tried again, grabbing arms and shoulders, begging them to cease their fighting. But they wouldn't listen, their faces twisted in rage.
More students, some wearing the same school uniform and others from different schools, rushed into the abandoned building, but instead of helping the boy, they cheered and watched the fight with morbid fascination.
The boy got pushed again, and his head hit the wall with a sickening crunch. He cried out in pain as his head began to bleed profusely. But the students fighting didn't even flinch, too caught up in their own battle. The onlookers continued to cheer, their voices echoing off the walls.
No one cared to look at him, let alone help him. He slumped against the wall, his vision blurring.
Just as it seemed like the fight would never end, a loud whistle pierced the air. The students paused, momentarily stunned.
The boy, still bleeding profusely, took advantage of the reprieve to try and stand. But it was too late. The other students, in their haste to escape, knocked over the shelves of old, crusty metals. The rusty relics came crashing down, burying the boy beneath their weight.
His hand, outstretched and trembling, was the only part of him visible. A male teacher and a woman without a badge, but with a whistle still clutched in her hand, rushed toward the boy. They were followed by several other teachers, who tried to restore order and stop the fight.
The students, realizing the gravity of the situation, slowly backed away. Their faces, once twisted in rage, now seemed pale and frightened.
As the teachers carefully lifted the debris, the boy's battered face came into view. His eyes, once bright and full of life, now seemed dull and unfocused.
A faint whisper escaped his lips, a single word that hung in the air like a challenge:
"Why?"
The teachers exchanged worried glances, unsure of how to respond. They gently lifted the boy, his head still bleeding, and rushed him out of the abandoned building.
As they emerged into the fading light, a dark figure stood silhouetted in the entrance of the abandoned building. The black shadow loomed, its presence seeming to draw the air out of the atmosphere.
The shadow's gaze fell upon the students, members of the infamous Elite and Tops cliques, who stood frozen, their faces etched with a mix of fear and guilt.
The shadow's presence seemed to hold them in place, as if daring them to move. The teachers, oblivious to the ominous figure, rushed the boy away, leaving the students to face the darkness alone.
The black shadow remained, watching and waiting, its presence a harbinger of the turmoil that was to come.