They turned into a narrow alley winding through mounds of trash, heading for their quarters. But Philip's steps faltered when three or four hulking shadows stepped out to block their path.
"Well, well... look who's back."
The voice belonged to a massive brute whose right arm was a cheap, rust-caked cybernetic replacement. 'Jagg,' the leader of a local thug gang known for shaking down new scavengers. He grinned, revealing gold-capped teeth, tapping an iron pipe rhythmically against his palm.
"Heard you boys stirred up quite a hornet's nest... alarms blaring all over the sector. Must have found something pretty shiny, huh?" Jagg stalked closer, his greedy eyes fixed on Philip's backpack. "Why don't you share it with big brother Jagg? Maybe I can help look after it."
Philip gripped his backpack straps tighter, instinctively taking a step back. "Back off, Jagg. I'm not in the mood today."
"Still got a smart mouth, pipsqueak!" Two of Jagg's lackeys circled behind them, brandishing machetes made from sharpened saw blades.
Murphy, who had been silent until now, let out a long sigh. He scratched his head casually and stepped forward, placing himself fully between the thugs and his brother.
"Jagg... I'm warning you out of kindness," Murphy said, his voice terrifyingly calm—a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. His sharp eyes locked onto the gang leader as if looking at dead meat. "Walk away. While you still have legs to walk on."
"Are you threatening me!?" Jagg roared in anger, swinging the iron pipe with full force at Murphy's head.
THWACK—!
It wasn't the sound of metal hitting skull, but the sound of Murphy's calloused palm catching the pipe in mid-air, stopping it effortlessly.
"I don't make threats."
CRACK!
With a brutal twist, Murphy snapped Jagg's cybernetic wrist. Metal screeched and bone crunched. Jagg howled in agony, but before he could drop, Murphy drove a fist into his solar plexus, followed instantly by a spinning back elbow to the jaw.
Precision. Speed. Brutality.
Jagg's massive frame was lifted off the ground before collapsing into a heap, eyes rolled back, foaming at the mouth. Out cold in a heartbeat.
"Boss!" The two lackeys screamed, lunging forward with their blades.
Murphy didn't even turn his head. He sidestepped the first slash by a mere inch, grabbed the thug's head, and slammed it into the steel wall of a shipping container. CLANG! Continuing the momentum, he swept the legs of the second attacker, sending him crashing down, and stomped hard on his wrist, sending the knife skittering away.
The whole fight lasted less than five seconds.
The crowd of onlookers fell deathly silent. Murphy adjusted his collar, glancing down at the groaning thugs with cold indifference.
"I told you..." Murphy's voice was ice. "Don't touch my brother."
He turned back to Philip, the playful grin returning to his face as if a switch had been flipped. "Let's go, pipsqueak. Dinner's gonna get cold."
Philip looked from his brother to Jagg's unconscious body and sighed softly. "You're getting heavier with your hands every day... Next time, just break an arm. No need to dislocate the jaw."