The time was 21:30 on a Saturday night, and all eyes were fixed on the smoldering remains of Hal's Café. Smoke curled into the sky, painting the street in a haze of orange and ash. Three bandits had looted the place and set it ablaze, and one lone woman had come looking for the ones responsible. Name: Alice Holmes. Twenty years old. Mother dead since she was eight. Father vanished long before that. By all accounts, she was just another street brawler—someone who'd spent more time in hospital beds than in her own. But tonight, she stood face‑to‑face with the men who torched her favorite place to eat.
"Hey. You the ones who burned down my diner?" she asked, scorn flashing in her eyes as her fists tightened. "So what if we are? You think you can stop us? Deliver some righteous judgment?" one of the thugs sneered. Alice inhaled slowly, grounding herself, then shifted into a fighting stance—a sharp, practiced blend of Muay Thai and Karate.
"Come one at a time or all at once. I care not." "What was that? You think you can take us all on? What a joke. Come on, boys—let's remind her who she's dealing with." The three charged. Two flanked her from the sides while the ringleader rushed straight down the middle. The thug on the left aimed a kick at her abdomen, but Alice countered instantly, striking his leg and sending him stumbling back. The one on the right lunged for a cheap shot, but she sidestepped and struck a precise point at his neck, dropping him where he stood. The ringleader froze—Alice's positioning made it impossible to advance without trampling his own men. Had he continued, he would've taken them out himself.
"So, you have some semblance of compassion, do you?" Alice asked coldly, eyes narrowing. "Well… yeah. I suppose I do. More than you have, I'd argue," he replied, his rough tone shifting into something strangely composed—something that didn't match the thug persona he'd worn moments before. "So. What's your move?" she asked, returning to her stance. "You really want to fight here of all places? Look around—trash everywhere, buildings rotting, streets falling apart. I'm pretty sure you passed a couple of bodies on your way here." "What of it?" Alice replied, gaze unwavering. "Their choices are their own. If they fall to their vices, that's on them. I care only about doing what needs to be done to see the next day." The ringleader wanted to be shocked, but something in her tone made it impossible.
"You care that little for your fellow man, huh? Then there's no point explaining why we torched that diner. Even if I did, you're so detached it'd pass right through you. I'm leaving. You should do the same. May we never meet again, foul beast." He turned and walked away, abandoning his partners without a second thought.
The time was 21:50. Twenty minutes since the altercation—and its strangely anticlimactic end. Alice looked down at the two thugs she'd taken out. "Leave if you wish, or stay and face the consequences. The battle is over." They limped away in the direction their leader had gone. Alice exhaled slowly, finally allowing herself a moment to breathe. When she'd seen the flames consuming the diner, she'd rushed blindly after the attackers, not caring where in the city she ended up. Now, as she walked the broken streets, she saw only hopelessness—shadows of lives long since abandoned. In one alley, she passed a man hanging lifelessly from a makeshift noose; she moved him aside without a second glance. In another, she found a woman trapped beneath the collapse of a rotting building, begging for release from her suffering. Alice granted it without hesitation, muttering a curse under her breath at the woman's surrender to despair. By the time she stepped back into the street, the whispers had already begun. "Alice the Merciless." A name born from a night of fire, violence, and choices no one else dared to make.