Broken(DC)

The monotony of my life led me to the idea of leaving the house for a walk around the neighborhood. I wanted to see what had changed in the area during my time in a coma and maybe have a little fun. With the mafia once again stirring up trouble on the city streets, I decided to play it safe and brought my set of knives and energy bars. Chaos had returned to the city: gang shootouts were becoming routine. As usual, the local police were powerless against this wave of crime. How could they stand up to gangs armed with an arsenal of diverse weapons when all they had were batons, pistols, and shotguns? If I were them, I wouldn't risk interfering in these skirmishes either—life is too precious.

I understood the tough situation the city's defenders were in, but I wasn't ready to simply accept it. Ordinary citizens, who just wanted to feel safe walking to the store in the evening without fear of running into a robber—or worse—were the ones suffering from all this.

This is why I didn't have much love for our city's police force. Still, I reminded myself that not all of them were corrupt; among them were genuine heroes willing to sacrifice themselves to protect innocent people. Pushing away my negative thoughts, I started preparing to head out.

After packing the essentials, I left my apartment, making sure to lock the door behind me. I chose to go out in the morning—I didn't want to deal with the crowds of the evening or the chaos of weekends. I was looking forward to a peaceful stroll on my own. If I'd gone at any other time, Alice would have definitely tagged along.

The weather outside was warm—winter was giving way to summer—and my outfit reflected the seasonal change. Sneakers and a tracksuit were perfect, keeping me comfortable without being too hot or too cold.

My goal for the day was vague, but I wanted to walk around the neighborhood and see what had changed. Alice had mentioned a new skate park nearby, as well as a recently opened club. I doubted they'd let me into the club, but at least I could check it out from a distance.

I decided to visit the skate park first and headed that way. Though skateboarding had never interested me before, many of my peers loved it. Maybe I'd give it a shot—it could turn out to be an exciting way to pass the time.

The skate park was only two blocks from my house. Turning onto the right street, I saw a fenced-off area filled with winding paths, steep drops, and ramps. It was a skateboarding paradise. Despite the early hour, the place was already buzzing with kids of all ages. It looked like they were skipping school to be here—not that I was in any position to judge, having only attended school for two years at most.

As I approached the gate, I watched the tricks being performed every second and the inevitable falls that followed. Entering the fenced area, I was immediately approached by a teenager in dark clothes with an edgy look.

"Hey, kid, wanna take a trip to heaven and get an insane buzz?" he asked unexpectedly.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"Don't you get it?" he replied, tapping his temple.

"I honestly have no idea what you mean," I said, realizing he was offering me something shady.

"Wanna smoke some weed? Cheap, just ten bucks," he said, rubbing his fingers together and pulling a joint from his hoodie.

"No, I'm too young for that," I replied, confirming my suspicion that he had nothing good to offer. He was ruining his life and trying to drag others down with him.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," he said, trying to persuade me and holding out the joint.

"No, I'll pass," I said firmly. My repeated refusals made his calm expression twist into one of anger.

"Listen to me, either you take the stuff and hand over the money, or I'll take everything you've got," he said, stepping toward me with a menacing tone.

I didn't expect to find myself in trouble so quickly. The guy didn't seem like much of a threat—my skills should be more than enough to handle him. Taking him down wouldn't be difficult, and my sense of danger wasn't kicking in. When he was just a couple of steps away, a hand landed on his shoulder. He quickly shrugged it off and turned to face its owner. But upon seeing who it was, his bravado vanished, and he deflated instantly.

The person who stopped him was an older teen of African American descent. He had an imposing presence—broad shoulders and a thick neck. Judging by his build, he was likely hiding a well-developed physique under his clothes.

"James, take your business elsewhere," the newcomer said calmly. "You're starting to annoy everyone."

"Yeah, sorry, Louis," James replied quickly before hurrying off.

"New here?" Louis turned to me, his gaze sharp yet welcoming.

"You could say that," I replied. It seemed he was some sort of authority figure here.

"Stay away from guys like him, and it's good to see new faces around. Are you into skateboarding?" he asked.

"Not really, I just wanted to check out the park."

"Well, if that's the case, we'd love to have you join us sometime. Stop by whenever you want," he said, giving himself a light tap on the head as if remembering something. Then he extended his hand. "Where are my manners? Name's Louis Fletcher. And you?"

"Brian. Brian Foreman," I said, shaking his hand.

"Good to meet you, Brian," he said, giving my hand a firm shake before we parted ways.

The unexpected situation and unusual ending truly surprised me. Who would've thought something like this could happen just by walking onto the skatepark grounds? I'd definitely keep this place in mind. Maybe I should actually buy a skateboard and start coming here.

From there, I continued walking through the neighborhood, taking note of new locations or changes to familiar ones. After covering most of the area, I realized it had hardly changed at all—just a few small details were different.

The final stop on my itinerary was the club. Or rather, just a look at it from the outside, since I doubted I'd be allowed in before I turned eighteen. Still, it was worth checking out.

The club was called The Black Rose and was a magnet for local youth. Despite rumors of mishaps and accidents associated with the place, its popularity hadn't waned. It was located in a bustling part of town, nestled among a cluster of five-story buildings. Of course, it would be quite a walk—about an hour there and another hour back—so I'd probably make it home by lunchtime.

The neighborhood around the club immediately gave me a bad impression. Trash was everywhere—bottles, cigarette butts, and other litter covered the streets. Walking through one of the alleys, I saw several homeless people rummaging through the debris. However, as I approached the club, the surroundings became noticeably cleaner, and the club itself stood out with a polished, upscale appearance. It was like a bright spot against a bleak, dark canvas.

The entrance to the club was roped off with sleek barriers and a designated pathway leading up to the doors. Two guards stood at the entrance, and the front area, adorned with bright lights and flowers, seemed almost over-the-top to me. Perhaps that's exactly how it was meant to look. The building itself was constructed from expensive materials, and the designer had clearly made an effort to distinguish it from the dreary architecture typical of Gotham.

The panoramic windows on the second floor were fully tinted, while a bright neon sign reading The Black Rose glowed above them. The roof, shaped like a glass dome, added a mesmerizing touch to the building's design. At this time of day, the entrance was deserted—no doubt it would be much livelier in the evening.

I lingered, observing the club for a while, but there wasn't much more to see. Deciding to end my stroll, the rumbling in my stomach reminded me of my hunger. Since I was already out, I figured I might as well stop by my favorite spot: Joe's Burgers. The thought brought back memories of my time with Alice—particularly the incident when we were kidnapped and how Joe's Donuts had helped locate us. Later, I learned that it was part of a chain with various specialties—from fast food and pizza to cafés serving donuts and ice cream. Alice and I loved their food, and they became our go-to places.

It had been far too long since I'd last eaten there. Considering I wasn't too far from one of their locations, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. I didn't have much cash on me, but it should be enough for a combo meal with soda, fries, and a burger. A quick count of my money confirmed I had just enough.

As I reminisced about the past, my feet carried me to the entrance. The air inside was rich with the aroma of spices and freshly cooked food. There weren't many customers—a handful of people sat at tables, quietly enjoying their meals. Driven by hunger, I headed straight to the counter.

"Welcome to Joe's Burgers! Ready to take your order," the cashier greeted me cheerfully, clad in the signature red-and-yellow uniform.

"Yes, I'd like one combo meal," I replied.

"Great, one combo meal. Anything else?" they asked.

"No, that's all," I confirmed.

"That'll be $12. Your order will be ready in five minutes," the cashier said as I handed over the money. They swiftly pressed a few buttons on the register, deposited the cash, and handed me a receipt.

I didn't wander far after picking up my order, opting to stand nearby and wait while contemplating the rest of my day. Apart from my usual routine, no exciting plans came to mind. It felt like I was stuck in a loop of the same activities, with little progress to show for it. Well, I could think about that later.

The sound of a bell snapped me out of my thoughts—my order was ready. I grabbed it and headed to the outdoor seating area in the back. I preferred the fresh air to the lingering smell of food inside.

Settling at the farthest table, I dug into my meal. Simple food, yet so delicious. I'd tried recreating something similar at home more than once, but my attempts never came close. Maybe someday I'd figure out their secret.

As I ate in peace, an unsettling feeling began to creep in. It was subtle at first, but soon it grew into a nagging sense that I should look around. Was there a threat nearby? Scanning my surroundings, I didn't see anything immediately alarming. Still, my instincts rarely flared up without reason. If there was danger, it had to be coming from someone in the area.

I started observing the other patrons and soon noticed something unusual. Two men in dark clothing were seated at a table under a tree. They had paper bags with them and appeared to be deep in conversation. On the surface, nothing seemed odd, but one detail caught my eye. If their bags contained food, why weren't they eating? Either they had just picked up takeout and were talking, or the bags didn't contain food at all.

One of them behaved oddly—his hands trembled slightly, and he twitched frequently, as though on edge. His mannerisms suggested drug use. Could those bags contain narcotics?

Now I faced a choice: call the police, alert the staff, or deal with it myself. Memories of past "heroics" reminded me of how poorly things could go when I acted impulsively.

While I hesitated, it seemed their transaction concluded. They exchanged bags, and one of them got up and left immediately. Damn it, too late to involve the police—he was already vanishing into the distance. Less thinking, more action. The remaining man, however, stayed behind.

He wasted no time opening his bag, pulling out a vial filled with a green liquid, marked with the image of a snake. Without hesitation, he injected it into his arm.

Was he really this careless? Didn't he fear being caught? Perhaps his withdrawal symptoms had driven him to the edge. Addicts often became desperate when they couldn't get their fix. At first, he slumped back in his chair, seemingly at ease. But I noticed something alarming—veins on his face began to darken and expand, turning a sickly green. My internal alarms screamed louder than ever.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, now glowing with an eerie greenish hue. With a furious expression, he shot to his feet, leaning heavily on the table for support. The table couldn't take his weight and collapsed under him. He hit the ground hard, but in an instant, he was back up, letting out an enraged scream. His gaze, wild and erratic, swept across the patrons.

The man's eyes darted across the crowd as if searching for something—or someone. His erratic scanning didn't last long before his gaze fixed on a lone patron. Without hesitation, he charged at them, toppling tables and chairs like fragile toys in his path.

There was no time to waste. Pulling out a knife, I hurled it at his leg. The blade struck true, sending him crashing to the ground with a resounding thud. But this wasn't enough to stop the maniac. Letting out a monstrous roar, he yanked himself back up, his wild eyes locking onto the knife lodged in his leg before shifting to me. His attention now firmly on me, I could tell I'd just made a huge mistake.

He stomped on the asphalt with such force that it cracked beneath him, and in the next moment, he charged like a wild beast. A direct blow from him would undoubtedly shatter bones. Hand-to-hand combat wasn't an option—I had to rely on speed and agility to survive.

I began maneuvering between tables, tossing knives as I went. Each blade struck his legs with precision, but they barely slowed him down. He shrugged off the pain like it was nothing, relentlessly bulldozing through obstacles as though they were made of air. The gap between us closed rapidly, and my arsenal was down to just two knives.

Finally, I reached the end of the line—a solid wall at my back and the crazed man looming over me. His form had become even more grotesque. His veins glowed a sickly green, his muscles bulged unnaturally, and his eyes radiated pure madness. Foam frothed from his gaping mouth as though he had rabies. He no longer looked human; he was a beast driven solely by bloodlust.

I gripped my remaining knives tightly. With nowhere to run, I had no choice but to prepare for close combat. I planted my feet, raised the blades defensively, and steadied my breath.

Before I could engage, however, something unexpected happened—a plate flew through the air, striking the maniac square in the head. The impact made him stumble slightly as he turned to face the new attacker.

I followed his gaze and saw my unlikely savior: the restaurant's chef, clad in a grease-stained apron and wielding a baseball bat.

"Back off from the kid, you crazy son of a bitch!" the chef yelled, brandishing the bat with surprising confidence.

The maniac's attention shifted entirely to the chef, who didn't waste any time. As the berserker charged, the chef swung with all his might. The bat struck the maniac's head with a loud crack—but instead of staggering, the beast simply caught the bat mid-swing. With a sickening crunch, he squeezed his hand, splintering the bat into shards.

"Aw, hell," the chef muttered, barely audible, before a devastating punch sent him flying across the yard. He crashed onto the concrete and lay motionless, likely unconscious.

The maniac let out a guttural growl, his thirst for vengeance seemingly satisfied. But as he turned back toward me, it was clear the battle was far from over. We faced each other like gunslingers in a Wild West duel.

His glowing green eyes burned with hatred, while I kept my focus sharp, tracking every twitch of his muscles. The world seemed to hold its breath.