August 8th, 2025
Back at the alley - 9:25 PM
The alley reeked of stale beer, rotting garbage, and something darker - something human and foul.
A flickering streetlamp buzzed above, throwing sickly yellow light onto cracked asphalt. The night air was cold, cutting into Ian's skin, but he barely noticed.
He stood there in the center of the narrow space, feet planted in his boxing stance. Shoulders squared, fists raised, chin tucked in.
Across from him, five men loomed like wolves around a lone stag. Their clothes were dirty, their eyes glinted with malice, and their breath carried the stench of liquor and cheap cigarettes.
Madison lay slumped against a stack of broken crates behind them, still in her party dress, her head lolled to one side.
Ian's eyes flicked to her just once - her breathing was slow, heavy. Passed out. Too heavy a drunk to just be from alcohol. No… he'd seen this before. That unnatural limpness. Those bastards must've slipped something in her drink.
One of the men - stockier than the rest, with a jagged scar cutting through his eyebrow - let out a chuckle that quickly spread to the others until the entire group was laughing.
"Well, look at this shit," the scarred one sneered, stepping closer. "Little hero thinks he's gonna play knight in shining armor."
The others smirked, some cracking their knuckles, some glancing back at Madison like she was already theirs.
Ian said nothing. His face was a cold mask.
Scarface placed a heavy hand on Ian's shoulder, leaning in. "You really wanna get hurt tonight? We're five. You're one. Best case scenario?" He grinned. "You just join us. You'll feel good. It's better than broken bones and broken teeth."
The laughter swelled again.
And then Ian moved.
A sharp pivot of his left foot, his shoulder rolling away from the man's grip - and before Scarface could blink, Ian's right fist arced up and crashed into his jaw.
The punch landed with a crack like breaking wood. Scarface's head snapped back, his knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, out cold.
Silence for half a second.
"What the fuck?!" one of them barked.
"Get him!" another shouted.
Four bodies lunged toward Ian.
First two swung at him in perfect unison, but Ian slipped under their fists with a weaving motion, his shoulder brushing one's ribs as he stepped inside.
His fist shot up in a brutal uppercut, catching the third man under the chin. The man's head jerked upward with a grunt, spit flying from his mouth.
Before Ian could breathe, the fourth man came at him with a right hook aimed at his temple. Ian's arm shot up, forearm colliding with the punch. His elbow connected with the man's wrist - sharp and pointy - eliciting a scream of pain.
But they weren't slowing down.
The first man - lean, with sunken eyes - grabbed Ian from behind, locking his arms around his chest. Ian twisted, trying to break free, but the second man stepped forward, winding up for a punch straight to Ian's face.
Ian ducked, feeling the rush of air as the fist missed by an inch, and then surged backward with all his weight. His spine slammed into the lean man's ribs, pinning him to the brick wall. The grip loosened, and Ian tore free.
Then - smack! - a fist caught him across the cheekbone. White light exploded in his vision, pain blossoming hot and sharp.
Ian staggered, tasting blood. His body screamed to drop, to rest, but he forced himself forward, hammering four quick punches into the gut and ribs of the man in front of him. The man gasped and collapsed.
A sharp thud! struck Ian from the side - he turned just in time to catch a flying kick full force in the ribs. Air shot out of his lungs, and he hit the ground hard.
A groan escaped Madison's lips as her mind swam back toward consciousness.
Her eyelids felt like lead, her limbs heavy and foreign. The world was spinning in slow, nauseating circles.
Shapes moved in her blurry vision. Two figures, hunched over, their legs pistoning down into something - someone - on the ground.
The sound was horrible. The wet, meaty thump of boots connecting with flesh, over and over.
Her heart jolted.
She squinted. A man lay curled up, arms shielding his head and torso as the kicks rained down.
One of the attackers laughed. "That all you got, huh?!"
The man on the ground suddenly twisted, grabbing one attacker's ankle with both hands and biting down hard. The scream that tore from the attacker's throat was primal, high-pitched.
The man pushed himself up, his movements heavy but deliberate, and unleashed three savage punches into the attacker's face. The man's head snapped to the side, blood spraying in the dim light. And a last right hook punch to the second attacker, knocking him out cold.
Two more rushed in. They slammed him into the wall, their fists hammering into his ribs and face, each blow echoing in Madison's ears.
"Stay the fuck down!" one growled.
But he didn't.
Through the haze, Madison saw him shove one away and swing wildly at the other, only to be caught and thrown back against the bricks. His body hit with a dull thud, and he stumbled forward, barely able to keep his feet under him.
Her stomach twisted. Whoever he was, he was bleeding badly.
"You shouldn't have fucked with us, boy," one of them spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
The man's head lifted slowly. His face was a mess of crimson and swelling, but his eyes- blurry as Madison's vision was - looked unbroken. Unyielding.
Then, impossibly, he charged.
The two attackers met him halfway, fists flying. Madison could only watch, powerless, as the fight devolved into a chaotic blur of blood, sweat, and rage.
Punches landed with sickening sounds. Boots scraped on asphalt. Grunts, growls, curses filled the alley.
The man refused to go down.
When one fell, he turned to the next. When another's fist cut across his jaw, he answered with two more to the gut. Blood sprayed - hers? theirs? - she couldn't tell anymore.
Her vision darkened at the edges. The last thing she saw was the man straddling one of them, his fists rising and falling like pistons, over and over, until the attacker stopped moving. Blood flecked the ground, the wall, the man's face.
Then blackness took her again.
Meanwhile, the front gates of the orphanage stood open, the iron bars glistening faintly under the moonlight. A crisp breeze drifted through, carrying with it the faint scent of rain from somewhere far off.
Jack stood beside the sleek black Rolls-Royce, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his posture as still and disciplined as a sentry. The polished chrome on the hood ornament caught what little light there was, throwing it across the driveway like a brief glimmer of silver.
Mathilda and Victoria lingered just inside the entrance. The stone arch overhead framed them like a picture, making the moment feel strangely permanent.
"Are you gonna be okay?" Mathilda asked softly, her voice barely above the rustling of the leaves nearby. Her hands reached out and enclosed Victoria's, warm and steady, the gesture speaking far more than the words could.
Victoria gave a small nod, her lips curling into a sad smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm… I'm gonna visit my parents," she said, her voice catching in her throat. "I need to let this out before it eats me alive."
Mathilda's thumbs brushed across the backs of Victoria's hands, the way an older sister might comfort a younger one. "Okay," she said gently, "but… will you visit us again soon?"
Victoria's eyes softened at that, and for a moment the tension in her shoulders eased. "Yes," she said with quiet conviction. "I will. Of course I will."
Mathilda's smile was tender but tinged with a kind of sadness that was hard to hide. "Then… be safe, Victoria."
"You too," Victoria replied warmly. She slowly slipped her hands from Mathilda's grasp, her fingers trailing until they let go completely.
The sound of her heels against the stone path was faint but deliberate as she walked toward the Rolls-Royce. Jack stepped forward and opened the rear door for her, but before she could slide in, Victoria stopped mid-step.
"Oh…" she murmured, almost to herself, and turned back around. "Do you have Ian's contact?"
Mathilda shook her head regretfully. "Unfortunately, no. Go ask Ellie - she probably does."
Victoria smiled faintly at the suggestion, a hint of relief passing over her face. "Just text me Ellie's number and I'll ask her myself."
"Okay," Mathilda said, nodding.
Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Victoria in a firm, heartfelt hug. The contact was warm, protective - like a shield against the cold wind swirling outside.
Victoria reciprocated the embrace, holding on just a second longer than necessary. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice muffled against Mathilda's shoulder. "My visit was cut short."
Mathilda smiled sadly, keeping her arms around her for one more heartbeat before letting go. "It's alright," she said. "You came. That's what matters."
Victoria gave one last small smile, then turned toward the open car door. Jack gave a polite nod as she stepped inside, the leather interior swallowing her figure from sight.
The engine purred to life, low and smooth, and the Rolls-Royce began to roll down the driveway, the orphanage gates slowly closing behind her.
Mathilda stood in the archway long after the car had disappeared from view, the fading sound of its tires on the road mixing with the distant whisper of the wind.
Back at the alley...
Her eyelids twitched.
For a long moment, Madison wasn't sure if she had actually opened them or if her mind was playing tricks. The world swam in a haze of black and red.
The air tasted like copper. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, thick and dry, and she realized her jaw was clenched so tightly it ached.
She tried to shift her head, but the back of it pressed against something hard - concrete? wood? - and even that small motion made pain ripple down her neck like hot wire.
Everything was too quiet.
No -
Not quiet.
There was something… the faint hum of a broken lightbulb overhead, flickering against the shadows. Somewhere to her right, a wet drip… drip… drip… of something hitting the floor. The smell told her what it was before her mind caught up - blood. Too much of it.
Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness, and shapes began to take form. The chaos was still there, sprawled across the floor like discarded mannequins.
She counted - one, two… no, five. Five men. All down. None of them moving. Limbs bent at wrong angles. Shirts soaked in dark patches. One's head lolled back, mouth open in an eternal gasp.
Her stomach twisted violently. She had to swallow hard to keep bile from rising. She tried to move her arms, but her muscles were dead weight. Pins and needles burned through her fingers like static.
Then she saw him.
Slumped in the far corner. Sitting against the wall like a discarded rag doll. His chest rose and fell - barely. His head hung forward, chin brushing the blood-smeared fabric of his shirt. His hands were limp in his lap, red slick down to the wrists.
The flickering light caught his face for just an instant, enough for her to see deep cuts, dried streaks of crimson, swelling along his cheekbone.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
Her vision kept phasing in and out like a dying television screen.
Then… movement.
The man's shoulders twitched. His head lifted just slightly, as if pulled by invisible strings. One hand pressed against the wall behind him for support. With a grunt - low, sharp, almost animal - he started to push himself upright.
Madison tried to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse rasp, too weak to reach him.
Step by step, he moved toward her. Each footfall echoed in the empty space, slow and deliberate. She could hear his breathing - heavy, ragged, like each inhale scraped his throat raw.
His boots left faint smears across the floor where they passed through puddles of blood. One hand clutched his side; the other hung loosely, fingers twitching. She thought she saw him stagger slightly, knees threatening to give.
Her eyes were so heavy. She wanted to close them, but some stubborn instinct screamed that she couldn't - not yet. Not until she knew what he wanted. Who he was.
When he reached her, he lowered himself into a crouch, and the room seemed to tilt sideways. His shadow loomed over her face. She could smell him - sweat, blood, and the faint trace of gunpowder. A hand reached out, rough and warm, and closed gently around her wrist.
Her mind was screaming questions she couldn't voice: Who are you? Why are you-
Something shifted behind him.
A blur. A shadow peeling itself from the darkness like it had been waiting. The metallic gleam of a blade in the dim light. Her eyes went wide.
"He's-" Madison tried, but her voice cracked and broke apart into a dry cough.
The man turned just as the attacker drove the knife forward.
The knife buried itself deep into his abdomen with a sickening thunk. His body jerked from the force. A guttural sound tore from his throat - part roar, part gasp.
The other man - the knife wielder - snarled and leaned in, trying to twist the blade deeper.
Madison saw the man's knees buckle, his breath catch. His free hand shot out, gripping the attacker's shoulder, pushing against the force. Both of them were locked in that struggle, teeth gritted, eyes wild.
Blood welled up between them.
The man let out a guttural growl, a sound pulled from the depths of pain and fury. With a surge of adrenaline, he shoved the attacker backward, ripping the knife free in the process. The attacker stumbled, but didn't go down. He rushed forward again.
Madison's vision blurred at the edges. She felt herself slipping again, the world going muffled like her ears were underwater. "Heeey!" she croaked, her voice cracking but somehow loud enough to cut through.
The man moved.
The attacker slashed. The man twisted away, catching the man's wrist mid-swing. The blade clattered against the floor. In the same motion, he drove his knee into the attacker's stomach, forcing a choked grunt from his mouth.
Then - without hesitation - he snatched the knife from the ground, reversed his grip, and plunged it into the attacker's chest.
The scream that followed was high-pitched and jagged. The attacker staggered backward, clutching at the wound, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
The man didn't give him the chance to recover - a savage kick to the chest sent him sprawling onto his back, motionless.
Madison tried to keep her eyes open, but everything was spinning violently now. Her head lolled to the side.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged pulls. Somewhere in that haze, she heard footsteps - closer now. She felt arms sliding beneath her shoulders and knees.
"Come on," the man's voice murmured - hoarse, but steady enough to cut through the ringing in her ears.
The last thing she saw was his silhouette against the flickering light… and then nothing but darkness.