A month later, the familiar rhythm of home had settled back into Norton's bones like a warm blanket. He woke up in his own bed, stretched, and swung his legs out, the simple act feeling incredibly good.
This was it – no drama, no walking on eggshells, just the comfortable, everyday hum of his family's house. He grabbed a fresh shirt from his dresser and headed out of his room, already hearing the usual morning chatter.
He found his little brother, Leo, slumped at the kitchen table, still half-asleep, wrestling with a bowl of cereal. "Morning, sunshine homeless child," Norton ribbed, ruffling Leo's already messy hair. "Rough night? Did you dream of conquering the world, or just finally beating level thirty on 'Technogons Clash'?"
Leo grunted, swatting his hand away. "Shut up, Norton. And it's just 'Technogons', not whatever you just said." They exchanged a playful shove, the kind only brothers who genuinely liked each other could give.
Their mom, bustling around the kitchen, passed him a piece of toast. "Your father already left for work, dear. Said he had an early meeting." Norton frowned slightly. His dad usually lingered a bit longer on Fridays. "Early meeting, huh?"
he mumbled, taking a bite of toast. He usually caught his dad before he left, even for early starts. The absence, though minor, was just a subtle shift in the otherwise perfectly normal morning.
Everything else, though, was calm, predictable, and frankly, a little boring in the best possible way.
How does that sound for setting up Norton's perfectly normal, pre-chaos morning? It emphasizes the newfound sense of peace and normalcy before everything inevitably changes.
"Oi, Norton! Don't you dare even think about using my 'super secret' pancake syrup," Leo's voice chimed in from the table, a playful challenge in his tone.
Norton rolled his eyes, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Super secret? Please, Leo. You just hide it behind the expired yogurt."
"It's a tactical maneuver!" Leo retorted, puffing out his chest exaggeratedly. "You wouldn't understand, you're not a true technogon strategist like me."
"Whatever, dude," Norton chuckled, pouring a generous amount of syrup onto his stack, pointedly not the one Leo was guarding.
"You know what, I actually feel like something big's gonna happen today," he admitted, surprising even himself. "I just don't know why."
He finished his food, exchanging goodbyes with both his mom and brother. With a final swig of orange juice, he grabbed his keys, ready to head out and meet up with the boys, unaware that his casual prediction was about to become a harsh reality.
Norton ambled down the street, hands in his pockets, a casual tune still playing in his head. "Damn, I wonder what we're gonna do today," he mumbled to himself. "Oh, just better not be boring.
I am not in the mood for doing something boring or lifting, man. Lifting is so exhausting. I cannot lift any more weights. YuShota and Jackass always want to do a weightlifting contest, and I don't understand why people do that, bro. Just hurts your joints after."
His gaze drifted, and he spotted it—a poster tacked to a lamppost. It was a karate poster, an explosion of action, performing martial arts in intricate, athletic, dynamic poses. It looked exactly like a movie poster, cool as hell, but Norton wasn't a fighter.
He stared at it for a moment. "Well, I hope signing up for that karate tournament will actually be a worthwhile experience, man." He knew YuShota had been trying to get him ready for his karate classes, pushing him with all that weightlifting, but he hadn't actually intended to go through with it.
Flashback: A Turning Point
A wave of recent memories washed over him, taking him back to a time when his ex-girlfriend still consumed his thoughts. He remembered being slumped on the couch with the boys, controllers in hand, but he wasn't really playing. His mind was elsewhere, fixated on her, on the long hours they'd spent together that felt, now, like a blur.
He'd been posted up against the wall, hands clasped over his head, lost in pathetic self-reflection.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, replaying the whole miserable experience. "What a waste," he muttered to himself, the echo of his past bitterness resonating. "All that time, what a waste she was."
The door creaked open, and their athletic friend, YuShota, strode in, glistening with sweat, a towel draped over his neck. He'd clearly just come back from a twelve-kilometer run.
He spotted Norton.
"Yo, what's up?" they both said simultaneously, a casual greeting.
YuShota responded, wiping his brow. "Getting ready for this upcoming boxing match starts in two weeks. Just came back from my daily jog."
"Yeah, that's cool, brother. I mean, you're active. I appreciate it," Norton replied, a hollow note in his voice.
YuShota looked dead into his eyes, a silent knowing passing between them. "Still thinking about your ex, huh?"
Norton's head dropped, wishing he hadn't mentioned it, but he was sick of carrying it around. He put a hand to his head, feeling utterly pathetic.
"Yeah. Yes, I am. And I don't want to. I hate it, man. I just want to move past this. I don't want to think about her anymore. But it just… it just hurts, man. It really hurts, Shota."
YuShota pondered to himself for a moment, then an idea sparked in his head. He pulled a sheet of paper from his book bag and unfolded it, showing it to Norton. "Yo, Nort, check this out."
It was the same karate poster Norton had just seen on the lamppost – stylized, action-packed, athletic, just like a movie poster. "Why don't you take this tournament? Or maybe just take karate lessons?" YuShota suggested.
Norton looked at the paper suspiciously. "What? Like, doing that karate tournament? I'm not that athletic, man."
YuShota explained further. "Well, I mean, you don't have to join this one, now. This one's too advanced.
I'm just using this as an example. Maybe you should just join a karate school as a way of, you know, distracting yourself. That is all, my friend. It's not one too far from here. You can just go to the one downtown. That one's really popular."
Norton rubbed his chest, pondering. "I mean, I don't know."
YuShota compromised. "Hey, I just… it's probably the best thing for you, man. How about you just join one class? And if it's just not for you, I can make another suggestion. You can switch to something else. Maybe we could try yoga, or like Pilates, or maybe just join the trampoline park."
Norton pondered to himself for a long moment, weighing the options, then finally decided. "Okay. One class. I'll join one karate class and see how it goes."
YuShota extended his hand, and in agreement, they shook it, a solid grip sealing the deal. YuShota felt glad they'd reached a compromise, knowing Norton wasn't usually the type to agree to healthy activities.
"That's the spirit, Norton!" YuShota replied, a comforting smile on his face. "Trust me, having a hobby will always help you forget the bad times, brother."
Back in the present, Norton stared at the poster.
"Okay, YuShota," he murmured. "I hope you're right." He then turned, stepping back onto the main road, heading toward his boyz
Norton rounded the final corner, the abandoned building now fully in view, and a familiar knot of anticipation tightened in his gut. He pushed open the heavy door, the dull thud echoing in the cavernous space.
Norton pushed open the heavy door, the dull thud echoing in the cavernous space. He took a deep breath, and with a casual grin, called out, "Hey, ladies! What's going on today?"
Four heads snapped up, their individual masks of preoccupation falling away to reveal a mix of genuine surprise and the familiar, distinct personalities Norton knew so well.
Lucky, ever the excitable one, but now with a nervous edge, practically bounced out of his seat. "Norton! Man, what's up?!"
Smarty, adjusting his glasses with a slight, almost imperceptible nod, offered a cool, "Not much, Vance."
Stanson, still leaning against the wall, merely grunted, a tight, unreadable sound that translated as his version of acknowledgement.
YuShota, focused as ever, simply met Norton's gaze with a calm, " Norton." His voice was low, flat, but carried a quiet welcome.
The air inside felt… different. Usually, there was a palpable energy, a mix of Lucky's boundless enthusiasm, Smarty's analytical pronouncements, Stanson's cynical rants, and YuShota's quiet, focused presence, all swirling around Jackass's unpredictable mayhem.
Today, though, it was quieter. Too quiet. Lucky was pacing, a nervous energy radiating off him, his usual cheerful demeanor clouded by a tight frown.
Smarty was meticulously cleaning his glasses, a repetitive, almost obsessive motion that spoke of distraction. Stanson was leaning against a wall, unusually subdued, not grumbling, just staring into space.
Even YuShota, usually impervious, looked a little more drawn than usual. It was like they'd all had a rough night, or maybe a rough month, and the air was thick with unspoken tension.
As Norton stepped further into the room, his eyes landed on Jackass. He seemed fine, almost unnervingly so. Too bright, too twitchy, a wide, slightly manic grin plastered on his face as he fiddled with his phone. It sent a strange prickle down Norton's spine.
There was something off about the ease with which Jackass carried himself, a secret glee that felt out of place with the palpable stress emanating from the others.
A suspicion began to form in Norton's mind: something was going on, something they weren't telling him. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were all holding cards close to their chests.
What Norton didn't realize, of course, was that the feeling was entirely mutual. Each of them, in their own silent struggle, was convinced they were the only one wrestling with a secret burden.
They all thought they were doing a stellar job of hiding their escalating predicaments, unaware that the air was thick not just with their individual tensions, but with the collective, unacknowledged weight of everyone's brewing storm.
Norton looked around at his friends, the tension in the room almost palpable. "Alright, what's with the long faces, guys?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood. "You all look like you just lost the lottery. What happened?"
They exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Each seemed to have a weight on their shoulders, a trouble they weren't sharing. Then, almost as if on cue, they collectively tried to shake off their individual funks.
Lucky, still a little too high-pitched, managed a more natural grin. Smarty pushed his glasses back up, the meticulous cleaning ritual forgotten.
Stanson actually straightened up from the wall, his usual slouch replaced by a more alert posture. Even YuShota turned fully from his punching bag, giving a rare, slight nod.
"So," Lucky started, trying to inject some of his usual cheer, "what's the plan, guys? Another round of 'Invisible hot dogs'? Or maybe we finally break into that old abandoned bowling alley and try to bowl with rocks?"
Norton was dumbfounded by the first response. "What invisible hot dogs? That's just eating air at that point. What are you, what?"
Smarty chimed in, more pragmatic. "I was thinking we could actually, you know, go to the library. There's a new graphic novel section that just opened up."
Stanson scoffed. "The library? Come on, Smarty. What are we, twelve? Let's do something with some actual… substance. Like, maybe find that guy who tried to cut us off on the highway last week."
Jackass, who had been silently observing the shift in mood, suddenly burst out with a loud, attention-grabbing cackle. "Substance! Yes! I second that! Mayhem! Chaos! Whatever makes the world feel a little less... beige!"
YuShota, ever the voice of reason among their wild ideas, finally offered a suggestion that was actually pretty reasonable. "Why don't we go see the new horror movie that just came out? Redemption Disease. The release date was just today."
Their eyes widened. All of them turned, realizing he was talking about that movie, the one they'd all been anticipating for months. Lucky slapped his forehead. "Oh yeah! I forgot that movie was coming out today!"
One by one, they collectively agreed. It was the perfect idea. That horror movie. They all just got their stuff, grabbed their money, and started walking toward the movie theater, their individual weary troubles momentarily forgotten, replaced by a shared excitement for a couple of hours of escapism.
This segment successfully brings them out of their individual funk and into a shared, collective decision, subtly hinting at their underlying issues without emphasizing the upcoming encounter too much.
The six friends ambled down the bustling city street, a collective unit, and unspoken personal anxieties temporarily eclipsed by the shared anticipation of Redemption Disease.
Lucky was animatedly describing a new "life hack" he'd seen online. "No, seriously, guys!
This dude on YouTube swore you can get free popcorn refills at the movie theater, like, indefinitely, if you just bring your own giant, empty soda cup and act really confused when they question it. Said he's been doing it for months!"
Smarty scoffed. "Lucky, that's just shoplifting with extra steps. And a terrible plan. You'll get caught, I guarantee it."
"Details, details, Smarty!"
Lucky waved a dismissive hand. "It's about the principle! The economy of it all! Think of the savings! So instead of spending $31 on a large popcorn, I could just spend $8.99 on an empty soda cup."
Stanson grumbled. "The only thing you'll be saving is your dignity, after they kick us out for trying to smuggle popcorn in a Big Gulp cup."
YuShota also replied with, "Yeah, but you have the cup, but how are you going to get the popcorn? 'Cause the only way to get it is to get behind the counter and scoop. How does that... how does that go to get the popcorn logically?"
Jackass, meanwhile, was trying to walk backwards without bumping into anyone, occasionally letting out a bizarre little "oink!" noise when he successfully dodged a pedestrian.
YuShota, as usual, was silent, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips, occasionally correcting Jackass's trajectory with a subtle lean or outstretched arm.
The conversation flowed easily, the kind of comfortable, meaningless chatter that felt like coming home. Norton felt a wave of genuine contentment wash over him. This was it. This was the peace he'd craved.
The city around them hummed with its familiar, slightly off-kilter rhythm. A guy walked by leading a ferret on a leash, the ferret wearing a tiny fedora. A billboard advertised "Pickle-Flavored Everything! Now with Extra Pickle!" It was all just… normal.
But across the street, lurking in the shadowy alcove of a closed bookstore, three figures watched them, their faces hard, eyes narrowed. They were scruffy, wearing hoodies despite the mild weather, and radiating bad intentions.
"Yeah, that's him," one of the thugs mumbled, pointing a grubby finger at Lucky. "That's the guy who beat us. The little blonde Scotty little dork."
Another thug cracked his knuckles. "He's with his boys. Looks like we got a party."
"Let's wait for 'em to turn," the third, a bulky man with a faded tattoo on his neck, whispered. "Get 'em when they're not looking. Swarm 'em."
Unaware of the ominous eyes fixed upon them, the six friends continued their carefree stroll, laughing as Jackass nearly tripped over his own feet while attempting a dramatic backward bow to an elderly woman who simply stared at him blankly.
As the brotherhood turned down a less crowded side street, heading directly toward the movie theater, a dozen thugs broke cover. They moved with a predatory swiftness, quiet as shadows, following them into the narrowing alleyway.
"Alright, so after the movie," Norton was saying, "we gotta hit up that arcade. I've got a score to settle with that claw machine."
Suddenly, a voice, guttural and laced with menace, boomed from behind them. "Hey, pretty boy! Long time no see!"
Lucky whipped around, his earlier cheer instantly dissolving into a grim recognition.
"Oh no, not them," he muttered, the words barely audible, but Norton heard the flicker of fear, quickly masked by resolve.
All six of them turned to face the thugs, unfazed by the threats being thrown. Well, all except Norton, who was decidedly unenthused to get involved in a fight.
Smarty, with his index finger, pointed at Lucky, asking with a perplexed question, "Lucky?" Then, turning to the approaching thugs, he called out, "Yo, who are these bunch of… bitches making threats as if they think they know how to throw hands?"
Lucky tried to de-escalate, forcing a nervous smile. "Oh, they're just... acquaintances from work. The burger joint. Right, guys?" he tried, looking at the thugs, hoping they'd play along with his obvious lie.
One random thug immediately shut down the facade. "We are not your friends and we know nothing about jobs, you blonde extraterrestrial freak of nature! You ain't gonna weasel your way out of this one!"
A second random Thug with a black eye also voiced his anger. "Yeah, yeah, you got lucky at that store but we got our gang now."
Smarty turns, looks at lucky and then looks at the thug with the black eyes and connects the dots. oh Damn, this is crazy, wow guys are boy lucky kick the shit out of you Goofy Goobers and now you want to get back.
The rest of the boyz started giggling from the whole interaction, finding it so hilarious that they can't take these thugs in front of them seriously. Oh my gosh I knew you clowns can't fight.
Another thug, red-faced at the insult, stepped forward. "Oh yeah? You think you tough? You think you can talk to us, dumbass boy? Waiting for you and your friend right there. I'm coming after you next, boy! Keep talking! Keep talking!"
Smarty, Stanson, and Jackass instinctively stepped forward, recognizing that a fight was about to ensue. Stanson replied further to the second thug, his voice laced with disdain. "Man, Smarty, don't even bother with these… these thugs. They're clearly special needs kids who got lost."
One thug, his face as red as a tomato, roared with rage at Stanson's insulting comment and ran straight at him, screaming, "Who are you calling special needs PUNK?!"
He threw a wild fist straight at Stanson.
But Stanson was quicker. He caught the thug by his hoodie, lifted him clean off the ground with surprising ease, and slammed him headfirst onto the pavement with a bone-jarring thud.
The other boyz collectively screamed, "DAMMMMMMMMMMN!"
Before anyone could fully react, the first thug who spoke lunged, a wild swing aimed at Lucky's head. Lucky ducked instinctively, slipping under the punch with surprising agility. The "peace" they'd just rediscovered shattered like glass.
"WRECK 'EM ALL!" Jackass screamed, his voice a manic war cry, as he launched himself headfirst at the largest thug, a wild, flailing windmill of limbs and red hair. He bounced off the man's chest, momentarily stunned, but instantly recovered, grinning.
The brawl exploded. It wasn't clean; it was messy, chaotic, and driven by raw instinct. Lucky, despite his smaller stature, moved like a blur, ducking, weaving, and delivering quick, precise jabs that were surprisingly effective. He focused on disorienting his opponents, always looking for an opening, a slight hesitation.
Stanson, grim-faced, moved with brutal efficiency. He threw heavy, no-nonsense punches, fueled by a simmering anger. "You wanna pick a fight, huh?" he growled, slamming his fist into a thug's jaw with a satisfying thwack. He was all about overwhelming force, ending the conflict as quickly as possible.
Smarty, caught off guard, initially fumbled, but then his discipline kicked in. He moved defensively, blocking and parrying, looking for patterns. He wasn't the strongest, but he was methodical, using his height to keep distance and setting up openings for his friends.
"Unacceptable," he muttered, as he deftly sidestepped a clumsy haymaker, forcing the thug to stumble into YuShota's path.
YuShota, a coiled spring of controlled power, was a stark contrast to Jackass. He moved with the grace of a trained fighter, dodging blows with minimal effort, his counter-punches short, sharp, and impactful. All thugs falling on the floor like a fly to a bug zapper
He delivered a swift, concussive hook that dropped one thug instantly, then slid to assist Lucky, a quiet protector, laying out another with a precise kick.
Norton, on the other hand, was purely reactive. He threw wild, ineffective punches, mostly flailing, relying on pure luck and the sheer chaos to avoid getting hit too badly. He managed to land a clumsy elbow on one thug's nose, which surprisingly made the guy yelp and back off. "Ha! Take that, you… you bitch!"
Norton puffed, slightly out of breath already. He managed to trip another thug, sending him sprawling, before a wild swing caught Norton square in the jaw, sending a jolt of pain through him. He stumbled back, shaking his head, a fresh bruise already forming.
The thugs, clearly underestimating the brotherhood's collective (if uncoordinated) power, began to falter. They tried to punch back, landing a few glancing blows, but the brothers were relentless, more fierce in their attack.
They pushed them back until they finally broke, scrambling away into the alleys, leaving a trail of muttered curses and discarded hoodies.
The six friends stood there for a moment, dusting off their clothes, adjusting disheveled hair, breathing heavily but alive with adrenaline. Norton gingerly touched his jaw, wincing. He hadn't done much, but he'd tried his best, at least getting one thug down and taking a couple of bruises in the process. "Well, that was a lovely welcome back to reality," he quipped, a little winded.
"See, Lucky?" Stanson scoffed, rolling his shoulders, a satisfied smirk on his face. "No free popcorn required for that kind of entertainment."
Lucky wiped a trickle of blood from his nose, trying to regain some air in his lungs. "Hey man, I'm a little bruised up. I think we can probably watch that movie another time."
The others groaned in protest. "Come on, we can still do it!" "It's fine, you'll be fine!"
Stanson clapped Lucky on the shoulder, right where he was bruised, making Lucky wince with a sharp intake of breath. Stanson, however, gave a rare, reassuring grin. "Lucky, don't worry. I'll pay for your popcorn.
Lucky was hesitant, but then he relented. "Why not," he mumbled, a small, pained smile. "Hopefully, the salt from the popcorn doesn't burn the sores in my mouth. Thanks Stan"
Oh it's my pleasure brother you really impress me man, because you were whooping ass out there."
With that, all six of them, a little more battered but still united, continued to head to the movie theater.
Before the triumphant feeling could fully settle, a new sound cut through the air – a low, guttural growl that quickly crescendoed into a high-pitched roar.
A cluster of high-performance vehicles, engines throbbing like angry beasts, suddenly roared into view from the far end of the street. They were sleek, customized drag racers, painted in garish colors, their chrome glinting menacingly.
Smarty's eyes widened, and he instantly paled. "Oh no," he whispered, a genuine tremor in his voice. He didn't hesitate. He grabbed Lucky and Norton, yanking them down with surprising force into the dubious cover of an overflowing dumpster. "GET DOWN! HIDE!"
Lucky and Norton immediately recoiled from the stench, pressing their hands to their noses. "Yo, Smarty, what the heck, man?!" Lucky complained, his voice muffled.
"Seriously, dude, why'd you have to pick the dumpster?!" Norton groaned, trying to get comfortable amidst the rotting garbage. "It's making my nostrils crying!"
Stanson scoffed, still high on adrenaline from the last fight. "What the hell, Smarty? Don't be so dramatic."
But before he could finish the sentence, a piercing, familiar voice sliced through the air, amplified by a megaphone.
"HEY, YOU! BODYGUARD! GET OVER HERE!"
Stanson instantly froze, his face draining of all color. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, or worse. It was Ricarda Wilds. Without a second thought, he lunged for Jackass and YuShota.
Shoving them even faster behind a flimsy billboard advertising "Giggle Juice: It's Exactly What You Think It Is!"
"Come on, guys, let's go, let's go!" Stanson hissed, his usual gruffness replaced by genuine panic, trying desperately to ignore her increasingly insistent calls. "You know what? Maybe we can watch the movie another time. We can probably just go to the one down the street."
Lucky, peering cautiously over the rim of the dumpster, groaned. "Dude, that's like, two miles away! We just fought a whole gang!"
"I don't care how far it is!" Smarty hissed back, his voice tight. "We'll take the long way, or find another movie theater anywhere but here!" He pulled Lucky and Norton deeper into the reeking shadows of the dumpster.
Stanson, equally desperate, tugged at Jackass and YuShota. "Yeah, anywhere but here! Just keep moving!"
Confused by Smarty and Stanson's erratic, almost terrified behavior, the rest of the group tried to keep up.
"No, no, we're not going to that other movie theater!" Lucky protested, his voice a strained whine from inside the dumpster. "The one down the street? Come on, guys, that place probably smells like poo-poo-doo-doo and wee-wiz! We're not doing that!"
YuShota, ever the pragmatist, leaned in from behind the billboard. "It doesn't matter what it smells like," he stated calmly. "All I just want to do is watch the movie."
His words were an island of reason in the escalating panic. But Smarty and Stanson were adamant, already pushing their friends further away from the current danger, their eyes darting nervously towards the street where the drag racers idled.
Just as they rounded another corner, attempting to put distance between themselves and the roaring engines and the furious actress, their phones began to vibrate wildly.
Notifications exploded across their screens, one after another, a rapid-fire assault of digital venom.
"What the hell is this?" Lucky yelled, staring at his screen, his face paling. Hateful text messages, accusing and threatening, flooded their inboxes.
One particularly vicious message aimed at Lucky made his jaw clench, a personal insult about his mom that clearly cut deep.
"TRAITOR! LIAR! GAY FISHING SCUM!" one read. "YOU'RE DEAD, TEMPEST!" "KILL YOURSELF!" The insults cascaded, personal and vitriolic.
Everyone was getting them, each one a sharp jab, except for Stanson, who just scoffed, scrolling through his own barrage of messages.
"Man, half these insults are so weak," he muttered, dismissing the digital threats with contempt.
Norton, however, gasped, a cold dread washing over him. On his screen was a picture of his own house. His stomach dropped.
"Yo, yo, Stanson, this is serious, man!" he exclaimed, shoving his phone into Stanson's face. "That's my house right there! What are these people gonna do with me and my damn house? My house is on the internet, man! This is serious, bro!"
Stanson glanced at the image, then back at Norton, unimpressed. "Like what, huh? What are they gonna do?" he dismissed, still focused on his own unimpressive threats.
"Wait, what?" Norton stared at his own phone, which displayed similar vitriol, clearly aimed at Jackass. A picture of Jackass, doctored badly to look like he was wearing a tutu, flashed across the screen with the caption "THE TRUTH REVEALED."
His eyes snapped up to Jackass, who was still grinning maniacally. "What did you do now, Jackass?!"
Smarty rolled up on Jackass with violent fury, grabbing him by his shirt collar, his face inches from Jackass's unsettling grin. "What were you plotting that got us doxxed, you menace?!"
Lucky and YuShota stood right behind Smarty, their expressions a mix of grim resignation and disbelief. This wasn't just another of Jackass's stunts; their lives were quite literally being threatened. Again.
Jackass just grinned, a wider, even more unsettling grin. "Me? Oh, just living my best life, Norton! Can't a man express himself on the internet without everyone losing their minds?" He threw his hands up in mock innocence, completely oblivious to the chaos his "expression" had just unleashed.
But before Norton could press him, a new, more immediate threat solidified. From the mouth of the alleyway, a group of figures emerged, not scruffy thugs this time, but lean, focused individuals in gis, their movements precise and economical. These weren't street brawlers. These were martial artists.
"Well, well, well, my opponent who ditched me wasn't out of shape slacker," one of them sneered, stepping forward. "And look who he brought with him, the target practice squad."
"Huh? What... what?" Norton's eyes went wide, and he slapped his forehead, a sudden, sickening realization dawning on him. "Oh, man, not today! It's today?!"
The karate master sneered, a mocking glint in his eyes. "Oh yeah, it's today, dummy. You messed up now, and you're going to pay."
Smarty, seeing the disciplined stances of the newcomers, stepped forward, trying to bluff. "Oh, gosh, not again. Look, look, we already beat up a couple punks. You wouldn't be no different."
Before Smarty could finish, the tall, agile martial artist with the bo staff moved with a lightning-fast blur. The wooden staff cracked against Smarty's face with a sickening thwack.
Smarty stumbled back, blood instantly blooming from his lip, his glasses askew. He touched his mouth, then looked up at the martial artist, a grim, determined glint in his eyes. "Okay," he said, spitting a small bit of blood. "You get that one for free."
The fight exploded with a precision that contrasted sharply with the earlier brawl. Smarty immediately found himself facing a tall, agile opponent wielding a bo staff, the wood whistling through the air as the martial artist began a fluid, rhythmic assault.
This version really drives home the sudden, dangerous shift in the fight's tone, emphasizes Smarty's quick realization, and builds more directly into the chaotic but skilled brawl.
Smarty's usual methodical approach was overwhelmed by the sheer speed and precision of the staff strikes, forcing him to duck and weave frantically, barely avoiding solid hits. He gritted his teeth, the unfamiliar terror making his heart hammer.
Stanson, surprisingly, was met by a smaller, but incredibly quick opponent with nunchucks, the twin sticks blurring around him. Stanson's brute force was effective against regular thugs, but this guy danced around his heavy swings, the nunchucks snapping inches from his face. Stanson cursed, his usual efficiency hampered by the unfamiliar, rapid movements, his frustration mounting with every near miss.
Lucky, caught off guard, found himself in a swift chokehold, his face starting to turn purple as the martial artist landed sharp punches to his ribs. Lucky thrashed, desperate, eyes wide with panic. With a gasp, he managed to claw at the ground, scooping up a handful of dirt and grit, blindly flinging it into his assailant's eyes.
The thug yelped, momentarily releasing his grip, and Lucky used the opening, throwing desperate, dirty punches back, fueled by pure survival instinct, landing a surprisingly solid hit to the jaw.
YuShota, meanwhile, was in his element. He faced a wiry opponent who favored powerful leg sweeps and high kicks, but YuShota moved like water, flowing with the attacks, his boxing footwork allowing him to dodge and counter with effortless grace.
While the martial artist was undeniably skilled and giving YuShota a genuine run for his money, YuShota was the only one truly going toe-to-toe, trading precise blows and holding his own in a dance of skill. He blocked a roundhouse kick with his forearm, the impact barely registering, before snapping a quick jab to the body, making his opponent grunt.
The only one truly having a "good" time, aside from YuShota, was Jackass. His chaotic nature was perfect for disrupting the martial artists' disciplined forms. He didn't fight; he flailed, screamed, and acted like a human whirlwind, tackling one guy from the side, then bouncing off to trip another.
YuShota, meanwhile, was a masterclass of defensive and offensive strikes, fluidly disarming and incapacitating several opponents with focused, powerful blows. He ducked under a spinning kick, then delivered a swift, concussive hook that dropped another thug instantly, before pivoting to assist Lucky, a quiet, effective protector.
He was an unpredictable, uncontainable force, less a fighter and more a living, breathing distraction that confused and frustrated his opponents, occasionally yelping when he accidentally connected a flailing limb.
The leader, however, had eyes only for Norton. "Don't show up to a tournament you are not ready for!" he roared, then launched into a rapid-fire flurry, a "JoJo punch"-like barrage of rapid, precise strikes aimed at Norton's chest and head.
Norton, despite his lack of training, instinctively moved, dodging and weaving, a desperate dance of avoidance.
He ducked under a lightning-fast jab, twisted away from a follow-up hook, his heart pounding in his chest, sweat beading on his forehead. He wasn't fighting back, just surviving.
The karate leader paused, his chest heaving slightly.
He then dropped into a low, classic fighting stance, all his power gathering for a final, decisive blow. He screamed a guttural "HAAAA!" for the final attack, his fist pulled back, ready to deliver a knockout blow.
A sudden, sharp CRACK echoed through the street. It wasn't the sound of a punch or a kick; it was sharper, colder. A sniper shot. A whistling THWIP as something invisible whizzed past YuShota's head, embedding itself with a dull thunk into the wall behind him, kicking up a shower of brick dust.
The karate kid with the nunchucks shrieked, a high-pitched, almost comical sound. "SNIPER! SCATTER!"
And scatter they did. Everyone.
"REGROUP! REGROUP! " the karate leader shrieked, his tough façade completely gone as he darted into a narrow gap between two buildings, his disciplined fighters dissolving into a frantic, comedic scramble right alongside the brotherhood.
From a distant rooftop, a calm voice cut through the fading sounds of chaos. "Agent Fox, you see the target?"
"I see the target," a cool female voice replied. "And I'm ready to fire."
"WHO GOT THE PIECE?! YO, WHO GOT THE PIECE?!" Lucky screamed, his voice a frantic, high-pitched squeal as he and the rest of the gang, suddenly convinced they were all under fire, bolted simultaneously.
They burst out of the alleyway like startled pigeons, a chaotic mass of flailing limbs and genuine terror.
Smarty dove headfirst into a recycling bin, his legs flailing. Norton let out a panicked yelp, tripping over his own feet before scrambling behind a parked car, nearly flattening a surprised poodle that yipped in protest.
Stanson, for all his gruffness, was surprisingly nimble, ducking behind a fruit stand and sending apples tumbling, a string of profanities tumbling from his lips. Some were crying, others screamed like girls, their fear a tangible, almost hilarious thing.
The only one truly in his element, aside from YuShota, was Jackass, who let out a triumphant "YEAH!" He weaved through the pandemonium, a human embodiment of chaos, bobbing and weaving with exaggerated, almost theatrical movements, convinced this was the purest form of fun.
He was having the time of his life, oblivious to the fact that the bullets weren't actually meant for him.
YuShota, meanwhile, was the eye of the storm.
He remained calm, cool, and collected, his legendary footwork allowing him to effortlessly dodge and weave through the sudden hail of sniper shots.
It was no big deal to him; he knew these shots were specifically coming for him. He was the only one deliberately at the back, calmly anticipating and avoiding each bullet as they whizzed by, his face impassive while everyone else lost their minds.
The brothers, along with the now-absent martial artists, continued their panicked dash. They zigged when they should have zagged, ran into each other, bounced off walls, but somehow, miraculously, everyone managed to escape the immediate line of fire.
They didn't stop until they found temporary refuge, huddled behind a dumpster in a narrow, trash-filled alley, gasping for breath, looking at each other with wide, bewildered eyes. Norton nursed a fresh bruise on his arm, Lucky's nose throbbed, and Smarty still had a rogue apple peel stuck to his ear.
"What... is going on here?" Norton croaked, bruised and disoriented. He looked at YuShota, who was still trying to catch his breath. "So, uh, I guess I'm not gonna see that movie today, huh?"