Michael was tall, with dark skin and deep black eyes that reflected a mixture of resilience and sorrow. Each step he took was a reminder of the burdens he carried, yet the music provided a temporary escape from the pain that lingered in his heart.
Seeking comfort, Michael immersed himself in the pages of fictional novels and the immersive worlds of electronic games. Returning to his apartment, he slipped off his shoes and sank into the familiar embrace of the couch, pondering his options.
"What will I do now?" he mused, glancing at the calendar. With a holiday approaching and no plans on the horizon, he sighed, "Looks like it's just me and this damned novel." As he began to read, irritation bubbled within him. "Why do most authors insist on throwing women into their stories as distractions? It's ridiculous. The hero should focus on his goals, not chase after girls."
His concentration shattered as his phone rang.
"What does she want now?" he thought, recognizing the caller ID. It was Sarah, his ex-girlfriend. Ignoring the call, he returned to his book, but the ringing persisted.
"Great, I blocked her number. Why is she still trying?" he muttered.
Then, the phone rang again. "Another strange number. Probably her again," he grumbled as he reluctantly answered. "What do you want? Didn't I make myself clear?"
Michael could hear Sarah's voice quivering with emotion. "Please, Michael, listen to me. I'm sorry for everything, but we need your help."
"Damn it, why should I help you?" he snapped.
"Please, I'm begging you! We're in danger."
He couldn't help but chuckle at her desperation. "This is amusing. Did you finally hit a wall?"
"Michael, it's not a joke! We were attacked because of you. It's your fault!"
He scoffed, "How is this my fault?"
"You attacked Tom's girlfriend's brother. He's in the hospital because of you!"
Michael's laughter echoed through the room. "Oh, you mean that punk who tried to rob me? I enjoyed smashing his face in."
"Yes, you psycho! And because of you, we're in danger."
"How can something I did affect your life?" he retorted.
"Tom is the leader of the Black Mamba gang, and his girlfriend is Alexa. You know her—I rejected her when we were together. She's blaming us and has kidnapped John. They're going to torture him unless we bring you to them. Please, help us!"
"Stop your tears; it doesn't affect me. I don't care what happens to you or that idiot. If someone wants a problem with me, they know where to find me. I'm not interested in your drama. You can give them my address; I'll enjoy smashing their bones. Don't bother me again. Bye."
He hung up, a mix of amusement and irritation swirling in his mind. "Damn, I think I've gotten myself into trouble. I should be careful. She'll probably lead them to me."
Despite the looming danger, Michael felt an odd sense of calm. His father had been a skilled MMA fighter, training him in martial arts, sword fighting, archery, and firearms. Growing up, he had been a force to be reckoned with; even local gangs had sought to recruit him. Why should he fear Tom or his gang?
"I'll call Uncle Matty, just in case," he decided. He dialed his Uncle, who managed his father's dojo.
"Uncle Matty, it's me! I missed you," he greeted, feigning innocence.
"Cut the crap, kid. What trouble are you in now?" Matty's voice was stern.
"Nothing serious. Just thought I'd check in. I had a little run-in with some idiots who tried to rob me. Turns out, the sister of one of those idiots is dating the leader of the Black Mamba gang. They want revenge. I'm just letting you know I can handle it, but I might need your help."
"You idiot! Tom Freak is a dangerous criminal, not some schoolyard bully. He's a killer. Stay where you are; I'll come to you right away. Don't leave the house."
Michael hung up, his heart racing. "What do I do now? Things just got serious."
He headed to his room, rummaging under his bed until he unearthed a large box. It was time to prepare.With a mix of excitement and nostalgia, he opened the box. Inside lay a black katana, its blade adorned with intricate purple engravings—the "Night Whisperer," a prize from a fencing tournament his parents had proudly attended. He recalled the pride in his father's eyes the first time he held it."Not today, my friend. Maybe another time," he murmured, setting the katana aside. He retrieved two daggers and a small box containing two FN-571 pistols. Loading the weapons, he donned his father's old coat, tucking the daggers and pistols within.Grabbing a long iron rod from the corner of his room, he stepped outside, gazing at the night sky. "Looks like it's going to be a long night," he said.