The streetlight leading into the alley was broken, shrouding everything in darkness, with an invisible mist of murk hanging in the air.
Oliver Scott was forced against the wall, pain shooting through his left shoulder, making him hiss and furrow his brows.
Several figures approached, their breath reeking of alcohol. Each one was drunk but strong and fierce-looking.
"You haven't even grown up and you're trying to play hero?"
"Kid, where do you think you're running off to?"
"Tonight, Grandpa's going to teach you not to meddle in other people's business!"
...
They exchanged words, rolling up their sleeves as they charged forward.
Observing their positions, Oliver Scott tightly gripped the strap hanging from his shoulder, his expression cautious yet calm, showing no panic.
