The alley below Johnny was dark, separated from the bright street lights that shone like guiding stars in the night. Above was a grey night sky. The wind brought the rustling of leaves and litter, drowning out the sounds of shins on leather and groans of pain and exertion that were coming from below for but a moment.
"Stay down, gay boy, or we'll get your pretty face real good." one of the two ruffians said while launching another kick. The blonde, rotund man on the ground was whimpering and groaning in pain as they kept kicking him lazily in the stomach or the ribs. His eye was swollen and his face bloody, likely from the initial hit that brought him to the ground.
The ruffians were very distinct, and very different. One, the one who spoke, was a sleezy-looking obese man with stubble and a striped beanie. Looked like a cartoon thief. The other was a lanky, almost skeletal, man with a receding hairline and a beige trenchcoat. His nose was crooked too. It is time someone stopped this farce, Johnny thought. He leapt down from where he was perching, landed in some trash. With a roll he managed to absorb most of his fall. The ruffians turned just in time to see a large man in black rush toward them with gritted teeth and a haymaker loaded. The lanky ruffian could not react, catching a knuckleduster to his jaw and sinking to the ground with wobbling knees. Johnny smirked when he noticed the man's stupid expression. The fat ruffian took a step forward with his hands up. He clearly had some degree of fighting experience. Johnny took the bait and punched right at the man's guard with his brass knuckles. The punch landed with a snap, and the ruffian's eyes widened as pain shot through his forearm. Distracted, he did not notice the uppercut coming in beneath his guard. It clocked him right in the chin, whipping his head back and sending him to the ground like a falling fern. Johnny, pleased with his work, dusted off his hands and turned to the blonde man on the ground. He was coughing and clutching his stomach.
"You okay, son?" Johnny asked, raising an eyebrow. The young blonde shook his head and tried to stand up, failing. Johnny knelt down, helped him to his feet.
"Get to a hospital fast, son. I'm sorry I can't help you more, but there are others in this city who might need me right now." Johnny said. He helped the young man walk to the edge of the alley before ushering him into the street.
"Thank you." the young man whimpered.
"No worries. It's the least I can do against scum like that."
The young man coughed again, then tried limping away. Johnny turned around, wiped off his brass knuckles and then walked to the ruffians on the ground. With a wide smile, infested with the rotten malice of one whose life revolves around their hate, he cracked his knuckles.
"When I was young, the world was like a fresh batch of apples in early autumn. Healthy, sweet and enough for a lifetime. Since then, I've noticed a shift. A few bad apples here and there. But a few bad apples spoil the bunch. Now, below a veneer of fresh fruit, there is a growing layer of bad apples. They are festering with mold and maggots, their blackened pulp shriveling and dissolving more and more as time goes on. That is, unless we remove the bad apples and cleanse the batch of its infestation. The mold, the maggots that consume the pulp and drink from the disgusting juices, all have to be removed so that the batch can be refilled more carefully with better apples. The youth of today must not end up like me, and so the disgusting task of cleansing this batch of apples falls upon me. No maggot will escape my vengeful brass, and no mold will escape my dreadful glare. That is my promise, my task, my purpose for which I've been birthed into this world."
Johnny wiped blood and bits of flesh from his brass knuckles. The pools of blood he left in his wake were a sorry sight. One maggot at a time, he thought as he walked back into the dark of night, one maggot at a time I will cleanse this batch.