Everything around Zen began to fade.
Colors melted into grey.
Sounds became muffled.
His mind drifted back, pulled deep into the memories of his middle school days.
Life back then felt simple, like a warm, easy dream.
Zen was young and naïve.
He didn't pay much attention to the world around him.
He was blind to the complicated, sometimes harsh, things life could bring.
It was a time when everything seemed like a game. Laughter came easily.
Worries felt small.
But those happy, careless moments were about to end.
They would lead straight into a disaster.
A disaster that changed Zen forever.
"Hey guys," Zen called out, his voice light and carefree. "Want to go play games at the computer shop?"
One friend grinned. "I'm down with that."
"Yeah," another chimed in. "Me too."
"Then why are we still standing here?" Zen said, already turning. "Let's go!" He led the way, the group of friends falling into step behind him as they headed towards their usual spot.
The local computer shop was their afternoon escape.
Zen and his friends spent hours there, lost in multiplayer games.
The small room was usually dim, lit mostly by the bright computer screens.
The air hummed with the sound of clicking mice and tapping keyboards.
Their own laughter and excited chatter filled the space, mixing with the electronic sounds.
One ordinary afternoon, Zen was deep into a close match.
His fingers flew over the keyboard.
His eyes were locked on the screen.
Suddenly, a loud voice cut through the noise of the shop.
It was shouting, cursing, barking angry commands at someone unseen in the back.
"What the f*ck is this guy even doing?" the voice yelled, sharp and furious. "The enemy is at the top left! Can't you hear what I'm saying?"
The shouting guy was near them.
He kept going, his voice grating and loud.
Zen felt a spike of annoyance. It broke his focus. "Who does that guy think he is?" he muttered under his breath, irritation clear on his face. "He's been yelling non-stop. It's so annoying."
His friends chuckled quietly, nodding in agreement.
They started whispering to each other, making fun of the loud stranger.
Their words were low but sharp.
Feeling braver with his friends laughing, Zen added his own sarcastic comments.
He mocked the guy's anger.
"Yeah," one friend whispered, smirking. "Like, if you aren't good at the game, why are you blaming your teammate?"
"True," another friend added, trying not to laugh. "He probably got killed the moment he spawned!"
Zen shook his head, joining in. "He's probably trash at any game he plays. That's why he's trash-talking his teammate."
But their fun didn't last.
The shouting stopped abruptly.
A heavy silence fell for a second.
Then, loud thuds echoed across the floor.
Someone was walking towards them.
Heavy footsteps.
Purposeful.
One of Zen's friends froze.
His eyes went wide with sudden fear.
He leaned close to Zen, his voice a tight, urgent whisper. "Zen! Stop talking! That's Derik."
"Derik?" Zen repeated, confused. The name didn't mean anything to him yet.
"Yeah," his friend hissed, sweat beading on his forehead. "That Derik. The guy who's always bullying kids. The one harassing girls. He's in his last year of high school." His voice dropped even lower. "And he's not someone you mess with."
The name hit Zen like a punch.
Derik.
Suddenly, he remembered.
Stories whispered in hallways.
Derik was infamous all over the school district.
Known for his anger.
Known for hurting people.
Zen's heart sank deep into his stomach.
He slowly turned his head, dread washing over him.
Derik was tall and broad-shouldered, seeming to fill the space.
He had a dark, menacing look in his eyes.
A look that could stop you dead in your tracks.
Rumours about him spread fast.
Tales of him taking money from younger kids.
Stories of him terrifying anyone who even looked at him wrong.
"Hey! You guys over there!" Derik's shout boomed across the shop.
The heavy footsteps stopped right behind Zen's chair.
His stomach twisted into a painful knot.
The smell of cheap cologne and something sharper, like aggression, filled the air around him.
Zen turned slowly, forcing himself to look up.
He was face-to-face with Derik.
The older boy's face was twisted into a deep scowl.
His sharp, angry eyes flicked between Zen and his friends, who all stared down at their hands.
"You got a problem with me?" Derik growled.
His voice was low, rough, and dangerous.
Like gravel scraping together.
Zen's friends shifted nervously on their chairs.
They wouldn't meet Derik's stare.
But Zen felt a hot rush of panic.
Words tumbled out before he could stop them.
"We weren't talking about you!" His voice cracked, high and thin.
It betrayed the fear squeezing his chest.
Derik raised one thick eyebrow.
He stepped closer, looming over Zen.
The air felt thick and hard to breathe. "Oh yeah?" Derik sneered. "Then what were you saying? Go on. Say it again. Right now."
Zen's mind raced, desperate to find an excuse.
Anything.
But Derik's presence was like a heavy weight pressing down.
It made thinking straight impossible.
His friends stayed silent.
Their loyalty vanished under the raw fear.
The noisy shop seemed to fade away.
The game sounds, the chatter – it all went quiet.
Only the tense silence between them mattered.
"Nothing," Zen finally muttered.
The word was so quiet he could barely hear it himself.
Derik smirked.
He clearly enjoyed seeing them squirm.
"That's what I thought," he said, leaning in even closer.
Zen could smell stale gum on his breath. "Next time you feel like running your mouth, make sure I'm not around to hear it."
He straightened up, towering over them.
But before walking away, he shoved Zen hard on the shoulder.
It was a rough, dismissive push.
Zen stumbled sideways in his chair, catching himself on the desk.
His friends all let out shaky sighs of relief once Derik was far enough away.
"Thank god," one friend breathed, wiping his brow. "Nothing bad happened. We would have been screwed."
"Yeah," Zen said, his shoulder aching where Derik had pushed him. "We should probably get out of here. Before things get worse."
"Agree."
"Sure."
"Alright," his friends answered quickly, already standing up.
But it wasn't over.
Derik didn't leave the shop.
He hung around near the entrance with a few rough-looking friends.
They leaned against the wall, talking low.
Every now and then, one of them would glance back, their eyes locking onto Zen's group.
Watching.
A cold feeling started in Zen's gut.
It spread through his body.
Soon enough, Derik pushed off the wall.
He walked back towards them, his expression darker, harder than before.
His friends followed close behind.
"F*ck," Zen cursed under his breath as Derik and his gang approached.
Their footsteps sounded loud on the thin carpet.
"Alright," Derik sneered, stopping right in front of them.
A cruel smile played on his lips. "I changed my mind. Hand over your wallets. Now."
Zen's friends froze like statues.
Their faces turned pale, almost grey.
One of them, a thin boy named Ethan, tried to speak. His voice trembled. "W-We don't have much money. Just... just a few coins. For the games."
"Don't lie to me," Derik snapped, his voice sharp as a whip crack. He stepped right into Ethan's space. "You've been sitting here all day stuffing your faces with snacks. Hand it over. Or I'll make you regret it."
Nobody moved.
The air felt charged, like before a storm.
Derik's patience vanished.
His hand shot out.
He grabbed Ethan by the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward, shaking him roughly. "Do I need to repeat myself?" Derik roared, his face inches from Ethan's terrified one.
Terrified tears welled in Ethan's eyes.
He fumbled desperately in his pocket.
His hands shook as he pulled out a single, crumpled bill.
Derik snatched it away, his grin turning wide and ugly.
"See?" he said, waving the money. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
"Arggh!! I got to get out of here!" Panic broke the stillness.
One of Zen's other friends suddenly bolted.
He tried to run for the door.
He didn't get far.
"Boys! Get him!" Derik commanded, pointing.
"Sure thing, boss!" Derik's gang, who had been blocking the way near the door, moved fast.
They caught the running boy easily.
They dragged him, kicking and pleading, back into the middle of the shop near the others.
What happened next made Zen feel sick.
His stomach churned.
The gang surrounded his friend.
They beat him.
Hard.
Fists and kicks landed with sickening thuds.
Laughter – cruel, mocking laughter – echoed through the shop, mixing with the sounds of the beating and the boy's cries.
Zen wanted to look away, but fear nailed his feet to the floor.
He felt cold sweat trickle down his back.
Derik turned back to the remaining group.
His eyes scanned them, then locked onto Zen.
"Now," he said, his voice dropping back to that dangerous growl. "What about you?"
Zen's fists clenched tight at his sides.
His knuckles turned white.
A hot wave of anger surged through him.
He wanted to fight.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to stop this horrible humiliation.
But he knew.
He knew if he tried, it would only make things worse for everyone.
Derik was too strong.
His gang was too many.
They would all get hurt even more.
Still, the burning anger in Zen's eyes must have shown.
"What's with that look?" Derik taunted, stepping closer again. His shadow fell over Zen. "You wanna try something? Huh? Go ahead. Make my day."
Zen quickly dropped his gaze, staring at the stained carpet.
He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. "No," he forced the word out.
"Smart choice," Derik said with a dark chuckle.
He slapped Zen hard on the back, the blow making Zen stumble forward a step. "Now keep it that way."
The rest of the group, trembling, handed over what little money they had.
Their heads hung low in shame.
Nobody protested.
Zen stayed silent.
But inside, he was burning.
A furious fire raged in his chest.
He couldn't believe it.
How helpless they all were.
How completely powerless he felt against this kind of cruel strength.
The taste of shame was bitter in his mouth.
The days that followed were a dark blur.
Derik and his gang didn't stop.
They kept finding Zen and his friends.
Harassing them.
Every time they saw them, they invented new ways to torment them.
A shove in the hallway.
Books knocked to the floor.
Lunch money demanded with a threatening smile.
Zen and his friends tried everything to avoid Derik.
They took long, winding routes home.
They stopped going to their favorite hangouts.
They hid.
But it was useless.
Derik always seemed to find them.
The harassment only got worse.
It became a constant shadow.
Whenever they tried to stand up, even a little, it ended the same way.
Beaten.
Humiliated.
Bruised bodies and broken spirits.
Eventually, the fight drained out of them.
They gave up entirely.
They accepted the abuse like a heavy rain they couldn't escape.
They learned to keep their heads down, their eyes empty.
One grey afternoon, weeks later, Zen was at the mall with Lena.
They were walking near the food court, talking about where to grab a bite.
Lena laughed at something Zen said.
Then, a familiar, cold dread washed over Zen.
It felt like icy water dumped down his spine.
He looked up.
Derik and his gang had spotted them.
They were already moving, spreading out.
Before Zen could grab Lena's hand or say a word, they were surrounded.
Rough hands pushed them away from the crowd, forcing them into a dim, isolated hallway near the restrooms.
The cheerful mall sounds faded away, replaced by the harsh echo of their footsteps.
"What do we have here?" Derik sneered, stepping forward.
His eyes gleamed with nasty interest as he looked Lena up and down.
A slow, ugly smile spread across his face. "Didn't know you had a girlfriend, Zen."
Lena clung tightly to Zen's arm, her fingers digging in.
Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear.
"Please," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Just leave us alone."
"Why would we do that?" Derik laughed. It was a harsh, unpleasant sound. "We're just getting started."
The gang moved in.
One shoved Zen hard against the cold, tiled wall.
The breath whooshed out of him.
The others closed in around Lena, forming a tight circle.
"Hey, she's cute," one of them said, his voice slick and mean.
He grabbed Lena's arm, pulling her away from Zen. "Why don't you hang out with us instead, sweetheart?" His tone dripped with nasty intent.
"Let me go!" Lena cried out, struggling against his grip.
Tears spilled over, tracing shiny tracks down her cheeks.
Her fear was a sharp, sour smell in the air.
Watching this, something deep inside Zen broke.
Shattered completely.
All the weeks of fear, all the crushing helplessness, the shame, the anger – it boiled over.
It turned into pure, white-hot rage.
It burned away the fear.
He pushed off the wall with a raw yell. "Get your hands off her!" His fist flew, aimed straight at Derik's smirking face.
---
Zen woke suddenly.
He gasped, choking for air.
A cold, wet splash hit his face, his chest.
The sharp, stinging smell of gasoline flooded his nose and mouth.
It burned.
It forced him to cough violently, his eyes snapping open.
Confusion hit him like a wave.
Where was he?
His arms were pulled back painfully, tied tight behind him.
Rough rope bit into his wrists.
He was pressed against something hard and wooden.
A pillar.
He blinked, trying to clear his blurred vision.
Around his feet, scattered on the ground, were dry twigs and chunks of wood.
It looked horribly familiar.
Like pictures he'd seen.
Pyres.
The kind used long ago... to burn people.
Panic exploded in his chest.
It was a physical jolt.
He jerked hard against the ropes holding him.
His body was soaked, shivering from the cold gasoline dripping down his skin and clothes.
The smell was overwhelming, making him dizzy.
Around him, in the dimness, he heard voices.
Mocking voices.
Cruel laughter echoed, bouncing off unseen walls.
It sent icy chills crawling down his spine.
His head throbbed with a deep, painful ache.
Fragments of memory flashed – Derik's sneer, Lena's tears, the mall hallway... the feel of his fist connecting.
Then, the dreadful, sickening truth crashed down on him.
This wasn't the memory.
This wasn't the nightmare he'd just escaped inside his head.
The ropes were real.
The gasoline was real.
The cold dread was real.
This was happening.