Scar advanced slowly, dagger loose in his grip, like he had all the time in the world.
Kieran tightened his hands around the spear. His ribs screamed every time he inhaled. His right arm trembled. His legs felt like they might buckle any second.
He couldn't win head-on.
He knew that.
Scar twirled his dagger, eyes calm.
"You're bleeding. You're exhausted. You can barely stand."
He smiled — not mocking, but curious.
"Why are you still fighting?"
Kieran didn't answer.
He scanned the environment instead:
Shipping crates stacked high Chains hanging from a rusted crane A forklift left idling nearby Oil slicked on the wet concrete
If he fought like a martial artist, he'd die.
If he fought like someone desperate to survive—
He might live.
Scar lunged.
Fast.
Kieran barely blocked the first slash. Steel shrieked on steel as dagger met spear shaft. The impact made his wrists numb.
Scar flowed like water.
Two cuts.
Three.
Four.
Each faster.
Each closer.
The last one grazed Kieran's cheek — a thin red line.
Scar stepped back, analyzing his reaction.
"You're slipping," he said softly. "Your balance is broken."
Kieran exhaled through gritted teeth.
You talk too much.
He pivoted and ran.
Not away.
Toward the crane.
Scar frowned — caught off guard — then chased.
Kieran grabbed a dangling chain and yanked with everything he had.
The chain swung wildly, knocking into Scar's arm and throwing off his aim.
The dagger missed by inches.
Scar clicked his tongue, resetting his stance.
"Clever— but not enough."
Kieran pulled the chain again, this time stepping behind it and using it like a moving shield.
Scar sliced through links but slowed down just enough.
Kieran sprinted toward the forklift.
His ribs screamed, vision flickering.
He slumped against the machine, fingers blindly searching.
Keys.
Please.
Come on—
They weren't there.
Scar's footsteps approached.
Kieran caught a glimpse of a control lever.
If the machine didn't turn on…
He shoved the lever anyway.
The forklift lurched forward.
He didn't think.
He slammed his shoulder into the steering wheel, forcing the heavy machine to swing toward Scar.
Scar rolled aside — graceful, effortless — but the forklift's prongs slammed into the crates behind him, knocking them loose.
BAM— KRAAASH—
A wall of crates toppled.
Scar dove clear of the impact, but debris pinned one of his legs beneath a fallen crate.
He hissed — first sign of frustration.
"That was dangerous."
Kieran staggered to his feet, spear in hand.
He could end it now.
He could survive.
Scar didn't look afraid.
He looked… amused.
"You adapt faster than they said."
Kieran limped toward him, raising the spear.
"Stop talking," he rasped. "Die already."
Scar smirked.
"You think killing me is freedom?"
Kieran thrust.
Scar's free hand shot up— catching the shaft — stopping the spear an inch from his throat.
Kieran's eyes widened.
Scar's fingers tightened.
"You don't understand what's coming."
His other hand slid behind his back.
Kieran saw steel flash.
A hidden blade.
Scar swung—
Kieran let go of the spear.
The sudden absence of resistance threw Scar off balance.
Kieran grabbed a loose chain on the ground and looped it around Scar's neck, pulling hard.
Scar thrashed, ribs and crushed leg preventing leverage.
Kieran leaned all his weight backward, choking him against the metal crate.
Scar clawed at the chain.
Blood vessels burst in his eyes.
Kieran's vision blurred.
His arms shook.
But he didn't let go.
Scar's voice was a strangled whisper.
"…You… weren't… supposed… to be… here…"
His body went slack.
Kieran kept pulling until Scar stopped moving.
Only then did he release the chain.
Scar collapsed, lifeless.
Kieran stumbled back, chest heaving, palms torn and bleeding.
He looked at his shaking hands.
Not in horror.
Not in triumph.
In disbelief.
I killed him. I actually killed him.
He staggered toward the exit.
He didn't take the spear.
He didn't look back.
He just walked.
Every step sounded like thunder in his skull.
Somewhere behind him, Scar's earpiece crackled to life.
"Team Four? Report.
Team Four, do you copy?"
Kieran kept walking.
He didn't care.
He was alive.