I drove the car through the street, my mind wandering as I started getting flashbacks. Memories of me and Amy, and even my parents, flooded my thoughts. I shrugged, trying to force them out of my mind. I needed to focus. I turned into my driveway and parked the car. The engine quieted, and I pulled out the key. Stepping out of the car, I faced the house. The cleaning and repairs were done a long time ago, but I had never felt the courage to move back in. Now, though, I feel... better. My revenge will start shortly, and I need to strategize. The familiar structure stood before me, unchanged yet carrying the weight of countless memories.

I closed the car door and walked towards the front entrance. The house was still serene and beautiful, a silent testament to the life I once had. Nothing had changed on the surface, but everything felt different without Amy. I entered the house, the air inside cool and still.

If only Amy was here...

Shaking off the sentiment, I set my mind to the task ahead. The time for reflection was over. It was time to plan my next move.

I sat down on the living room couch, basking in the afterglow of my decision. The familiar comfort of the cushions did little to ease the turmoil within me. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my sister's diary, the worn leather cover a stark reminder of the pain and mystery surrounding her death. I flipped to the first entry after the discovery of the cult, carefully turning the pages, my eyes scanning her neat handwriting. My sister died approximately two days after she first met this man. Also, her ankle was found broken near the time of death. The journal read:

"A young man, perhaps sixteen, talked to me about this ECLIPSE cult, the Esoteric Circle, hublah hublah. He seemed off in a way I couldn't describe. Using all of my willpower, I guess you could say it's his laziness. He won't even look me in the eyes. His name was... Jordan." This is him! The one that broke her ankle. Arnold didn't even touch Amy... It has to be him! My hands pulsed with blood, my heart pounding in my chest, the fever pitch of my anger and determination reaching its peak. I gripped the diary tighter, my knuckles whitening. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and the image they formed stoked the fire of my resolve. Jordan. The name echoed in my mind, a target locked in my sights.

I heard a faint whisper echo through the air. What was that? It sounded like... Amy. It can't be. Stop freaking out, Damon. I shook my head, trying to dismiss the unsettling feeling creeping up my spine. I refocused on the journal, flipping to the next page, hoping for more information. "He told me his full name, 'Jordan Halbrook'. But he's insane! When he walked up to me, a man tried picking a fight with him. Then, he brought him to the ground and broke his ankle! A bit too far.. You could say it was BJJ, but it could've been wrestling. Anyway, he's dangerous. I'm not associating with him anymore."

This is it! This confirms it. He's a BJJ and wrestling mix. I'll take him down. Another faint whisper rang through the air, this time clearly stating the word "kill." It was in a feminine voice, but not Amy's. My heart pounded in my chest. What is that? The whisper seemed to seep into my bones, sending chills down my spine. That man... he gives me the creeps. I tried to shake off the unease and refocused. The next few hours were spent coming up with a plan. I needed to strategize my approach, leveraging what I knew about Jordan's fighting style. I couldn't let my emotions cloud my judgment. I had to stay sharp, stay focused.

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The day after..

"I decided," I said, throwing a jab. "to start my revenge!" I stated, landing a jab squarely on Oren's face. He grimaced at the impact, a few drops of blood trickling from his nose. He exclaimed, "Alright, that's it!" Oren dashed in, and before I could react, he clotheslined me, dropping me to the ground with a thud. I tried to jump up, but Oren swiftly kicked me in the gut. The air rushed out of my lungs, leaving me gasping. Oren stated, "That's the best move to beat someone who uses BJJ. Land a kick in their sternum." His kick hadn't been particularly powerful, yet it left me winded and struggling to recover. Oren reached out his arm, "C'mon, get up." I grasped his arm, feeling the strength and steadiness in his grip, and stood up.

I explained to him further, "You're right, the man I'm facing uses BJJ. How did you know that?" He responded, "I know this cult. My kid has had some run-ins before. Tony actually fought Jordan and lost." This was news to me. Someone like Tony lost? I couldn't hide my surprise. Tony was a martial arts prodigy, yet he had been bested by Jordan. Oren continued, "They've left me alone after I beat up some of their higher-ranking members. Jordan is one weird kid, though."

I added, "Jordan Halbrook. My sister journaled about him. He goes to St. Michael's High School. Do you have any tips for me when I face him?" Oren paused, contemplating his response. His eyes seemed to darken with memories of past encounters. "Do not get tackled or retreat to the ground. You'll lose no matter what," he finally said, his tone grave and serious. "Jordan is skilled in BJJ and wrestling, which makes him lethal if he takes the fight to the ground. You need to keep the fight standing. Use your striking to keep him at a distance. Focus on your footwork. Keep moving, don't let him close the distance easily. If he gets his hands on you, it could be over. You have to be quick, precise, and always one step ahead."

His advice was invaluable, underscoring the importance of staying on my feet and utilizing the striking techniques I had been honing under his guidance. His words painted a vivid picture of the kind of opponent Jordan would be: cunning, relentless, and dangerous. "Also," Oren continued, "watch his movements carefully. BJJ practitioners have a tendency to telegraph their takedown attempts. Look for the signs—a change in his stance, a drop in his level. When you see it coming, be ready to counter. And remember, no matter what, stay off the ground." His eyes locked onto mine, the intensity of his gaze driving home the gravity of the situation. He walked over to the punching bag I broke a few days ago. "I guess that's it for now, huh? You've finished my training, and now you can get your revenge." I released my arms to my side, feeling the weight of his words. "Yes, sir. I won't see you again, as even I know this revenge leads to destruction."

Oren faced the mirror, his expression hidden from me. He asked, "I know I trained you to get your revenge, but can you at least tone it down a bit?" I felt a surge of anger and determination. "No. I'll send all these people to Hell!" A droplet of water hit the ground, and I realized it was a tear from Oren. "Then me and you don't have a relationship anymore. Go and get your revenge." I bowed deeply to him, my heart heavy but resolute. "Thank you for all that you taught me!" I walked off, leaving the Gifted Martial Arts Gym behind for good. The techniques he taught me had become a part of me, etched into my muscles and bones. Now, it was my time. As I stepped out into the world, the sun setting in the distance, I felt a mix of anticipation and sorrow. Oren's gym, the place where I had transformed myself, was now a chapter I was closing.

Twenty two hours later..

I walked down the street, turning right to the courtyard. The grass was a beautiful green, and the school's decorative features stood out to me, adding a sense of serenity to the surroundings. A plaque stating the school's name was etched into the stones. The sight of the school, so peaceful and unsuspecting, made the mission ahead feel surreal. I tugged on my fake backpack, adjusting it to sit more comfortably on my shoulders. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing the determination that fueled me. "Jordan," I muttered under my breath, the words so uncontrolled they could've burst into a yell, "it's time for your trip to Hell."