Inside an alley of 'Walesin City,' Austavise country;
"Perception can be quite a dangerous thing, and its impact runs deeper than we often realize. It begins in our conscious mind, forming through observation, interaction, and experience, and gradually works its way into the subconscious. These subconscious perceptions then start influencing our body and behavior, often without us being aware of it. This is particularly evident when we interpret another person's actions or words."
For instance, take this very moment.
As soon as the man on the right opened his mouth, Kevin's body subconsciously transitioned into a state of heightened readiness, preparing itself for any possible reaction or action, because he subconsciously knew that this man was a dreg of society. It's fascinating, and perhaps a little alarming, how our perceptions dictate our responses, shaping not just our thoughts, but our physiological state as well.
The moment Kevin heard the word 'parents,' he instantly knew that a line was about to be crossed—one he could never forgive or let go.
Without hesitation, he abruptly turned toward the woman standing behind him. As he handed her his smartphone, his voice was firm and unwavering as he uttered just two words:
'Call the police.'
Meanwhile, the leader of the trio was basking in his own smug satisfaction. Today was expected to be a straightforward opportunity to generate substantial income without exerting much effort. He had even dismissed the sleazy antics of the pervert in his group, who had tried to slip past his earlier threats.
But now, as he surveyed the unfolding chaos, his confidence was shaken.
The situation, which had seemed so perfectly under control, had spiraled into utter disaster. The boy he had underestimated as just another ordinary kid had transformed into a force of unpredictable fury, leaving him utterly bewildered.
Kevin's decision was as swift and inevitable as the strike of lightning before a storm. Hesitation did not exist—only the singularity of purpose that now burned in his chest.
The world around him seemed to blur, the bustling sounds of the alley fading into a muted backdrop. His eyes fixed on the man, the insult to his mother still hanging vilely in the air.
For a fleeting second, a surge of conflicting emotions swelled within him—memories of a distant mother who had always felt like a stranger, the questions he'd never asked, and the answers he may never know.
But none of it mattered. She was his mother. That fact alone anchored him.
Kevin's fingers tightened around the pen in his hand, its weight insignificant yet deadly in his grasp. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate yet unrelenting.
The expression on the man's face was almost satisfying—almost.
His movements were razor-sharp and deliberate, the result of years of disciplined training under his father and relentless practice. In his hand, the pen transformed into a deadly weapon, unforgiving and precise, as it tore through the man's neck with brutal efficiency.
Blood flowed freely as a jagged wound bloomed, cutting off the man mid-sentence. For a moment, his expression was one of confusion—his mind struggling to grasp what had just occurred. But as the reality of the injury sunk in, panic overtook him.
His hands flew to his neck in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood, but it was a futile effort.
Kevin, however, had no intention of showing mercy. Before the man could even begin to recover, Kevin's foot shot forward in a savage kick aimed directly at his groin.
The man's cry of anguish, distorted and guttural, echoed through the alley as he crumpled to the ground, his body writhing in agony.
The leader of the trio and the remaining man sprang into action immediately, their movements sharp and calculated.
The second man charged at Kevin, his full weight barreling toward him in an attempt to pin him down. Meanwhile, the leader unsheathed a knife, his cold eyes locked onto Kevin as he waited for the perfect moment to strike and end the chaos once and for all.
But Kevin, a seasoned fighter, could read their intentions as clearly as if they had spoken them aloud. Refusing to wait for the attack to come to him, he surged forward, meeting the charging man head-on. His leg arced upward in a powerful kick aimed at the man's chest.
The attacker, however, was not just brute strength—he had cunning on his side. Spotting the incoming kick, he adjusted his stance and maneuvered his knife into its path, ready to intercept the strike.
Even for someone as skilled and experienced as Kevin, defending against such a counter at close range was nearly impossible. Realizing this, Kevin made a split-second decision: to sacrifice and endure pain in exchange for a chance of victory.
Redirecting his kick, Kevin raised his leg higher, targeting the man's head instead. The attacker's eyes widened in shock as he failed to react in time.
Kevin's foot collided with his face with a sickening crack, the force of the blow shattering bone and drawing a bloodcurdling scream from his victim as he collapsed to the ground.
Though Kevin had narrowly avoided the worst outcome, he wasn't unscathed. The blade had grazed his leg during the altercation, leaving a deep, ragged cut that bled profusely.
The injury left his steps faltering, his balance unsteady—but despite the pain and the blood staining his clothing, Kevin's eyes burned with determination. He wasn't finished. Not yet.
Before Kevin could regain full control of his unstable footing, a shadow darted within the periphery of his vision. Instinct took over as he attempted to dodge, but the lingering instability in his steps betrayed him. Pain exploded from his back—a sharp, searing sensation that left no doubt about the severity of the blow.
The leader's attack had landed. As one of the top minds in integrative medical genomics, Kevin's knowledge of the human body allowed him to assess the situation with terrifying clarity.
The stab had pierced his lower abdomen, an area rife with potential complications. Major arteries and kidneys appeared untouched for now, but he knew better than to underestimate the danger. Each passing second could bring unforeseen consequences.
He did not remove the knife because it could lead to excess internal bleeding, something he cannot afford, not at such critical times. So he ignored it, letting it remain stuck inside his body.
He knew his decision could have dire consequences in this fight if these bastards were to take advantage of it, but a few risks are necessary sometimes.
Despite the excruciating pain, Kevin forced himself to focus. He couldn't afford hesitation—not now, not with his life hanging by a thread. Clenching his fist tightly, he channeled every ounce of strength left within him and drove his punch squarely into the leader's face, targeting the nose with precision honed through years of training.
The leader, a man hardened by years of experience, had underestimated the young fighter before him. He hadn't anticipated such defiance, especially from someone nursing a fresh wound. The punch landed with brutal force, distorting his facial structure and sending him reeling backward.
The sharp crack of bone breaking filled the air as he staggered, clutching his face in visible agony.
Kevin seized the fleeting opportunity, his survival instincts kicking into overdrive. Though his breathing was ragged and his body felt like it was on the verge of collapse, he refused to give in. He didn't dare remove the knife embedded in his back, knowing it could trigger uncontrollable internal bleeding. Instead, he grabbed his pen—the weapon that had served him once before—and lunged toward the leader, limping heavily but determined to strike.
He aimed for the leader's neck, his movements fueled by desperation and unrelenting resolve. But fate, it seemed, had turned its back on Kevin.
The leader managed to shield himself just in time, the tip of the pen veering off course. Though the strike failed to hit the arteries, it still left a deep, grisly wound. Blood poured from the injury, cascading down in crimson streams as the leader struggled to maintain his composure.
Kevin braced himself for the leader's counterattack, his mind racing to predict the next move. What followed, however, was entirely unexpected. Rather than retaliating with another strike, the leader surged forward and locked Kevin in a crushing bear hug. The sudden embrace felt absurd, almost comical—until Kevin realized its intent.
The leader wasn't trying to crush him with brute force; he was stalling, creating an opening for something more sinister. Before Kevin could react further, the leader's hoarse voice cut through the chaos, strained and rasping from the blood loss.
"Move now, bitch, if you wish to escape this lunatic," he growled.
The words hit Kevin like a thunderclap, extinguishing the faint hope he'd held that his suspicions might be wrong. The leader's betrayal confirmed his worst fears, and the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps behind him solidified the truth.
The woman—the supposed damsel in distress—was part of the trap all along, her performance meticulously designed to lure him into this deadly ambush.