There were splinters sticking into my skin from the prior detonation, taking apart the counter and a decent portion of its underside.

The only thing standing between me and a bullet was a wall and a couple centimeters of already shattered window glass. There was too much going on, but the shooter hadn’t decided to load their firearm nor pull the trigger.

“Were they considering where I was? Were they not trying to waste a bullet for a clean-shot? Did they expect me to just dodge another?” I thought.

I- Chliick.

My body dashed to the right as a bullet came through the ball, puncturing the floor. My body braced immediately, trying to establish distance between me and the projectile based on instinct. My body told me to be weary, but those same signals in my head weren’t telling me to run.

Was it the projectile they were using? Had they decided to switch it up?

Something was going on, and it wasn’t just the fact I was getting shot at. The first was weaker, the second shot was stronger, but… the first shot was aimed at my head. The second and this one packed the same amount of danger—were their first instincts to try taking me alive with a single shot?

Why switch it up? And why wasn’t my body warning me of the danger when these shots were clearly both lethal?

I reached forward, pulling a piece of tile out from the floorboards, and chucked it forward into the periphery of the glass. That same familiar click of their firearm rang through my senses as the bullet flew into the piece of tile, knocking it back down to the floor with a low tink. This shot didn’t make me feel weary, it didn’t worry me, so what was going on? What was—move.

Thoughts turned immediately to action, arms bracing to block to where the second bullet had shot down from with my gut screaming at me with a form of emergency I have never felt before. First the sound of the wooden floorboards cracking had frightened my senses, and then came the accelerated noise of its explosion as the floorboards broke apart with a greater ferocity than what the prior detonation.

The topside of my torso slammed against the frame behind the counter. The force was enough to break the frame but also suddenly cause an abrupt stop of my momentum to send me downward, careening onto the floor onto my stomach.

The taste of iron stung entered my mouth as blood mixed with saliva and a buzzing white noise nulled my senses. An ache shot throughout my body, stinging through the wounds that were already present and now adding onto them.

I could get up from this. I just needed a couple of seconds. Just a few more seconds to try picking myself up and running the hell out of here. My body could run. My back wasn’t shot. My legs could move. I could move. I could move. I could move.

One, two, three, four, then five loud gunshots echoed pained my ears as they broke through whatever remaining shielding there had been. An explosion to kick up the dust created by the second detonation. Likely a table. It sounded all too familiar to me from before, that now, even as I sat behind the counter with my body aching and breathing unstable I was capable of picking it out.

Hiss.

My eyes snapped around, meeting the gaze of the turquoise snake as its body had suddenly wrapped around mine.

How?

I asked myself. The sense of danger was there now. It was alarming and yet, I couldn’t tell as to why I hadn’t felt the presence earlier.

The bullets. The explosions. The danger. All so overwhelming. That was why–hrnngh!

My thoughts plummeted as its body constricted violently and tightly around my frame. Squeezing the already pained muscles in my arms to keep them from pulling at the inked creation and coiling itself against both new and old bruises and cuts.

“Sorry,” a voice spoke gently, I could tell there was pity in her words. My head turned, reacting slowly while I tried breaking things down swiftly. Met with the same short-haired curly woman from this morning. A smile rested on her face as her eyes looked dreary, the collared-sweater dirtied with dust. The snake’s body leading into her sleeve. “We usually don’t spring people like this—well, we do but it’s always a bit—ah, semantics! Little, little details.” She waved off, visibly pained from awkward tension, she raised her arm and the snake’s body pulled to tighten.

I tried to contain my agony, but managed just screaming through closed lips.

“You are durable! Not many people can remain conscious for that long.” She spoke, her brow raised with curiosity. Her comment was less of a question and more confirmation. I knew that they were aware of me, but they were also aware of what I could do. Richter, was it him?

Squeeze.

The next cry broke free of my mouth, releasing the sounds of my pain into the open.

∎∎∎

My hands trembled… there was a pencil in my hands.

I was… trying to write something.

I couldn’t get it. Couldn’t write. Hard to understand.

“I don’t. I don’t remember this.” I thought, my body flinching at an unfamiliar-familiar memory.

Everything is foggy. I want to see.

“I want to get it,” my voice light, young. “I can’t get it. Reading is hard.”

I wanted to cry. I did cry. I could feel the warm tears on the side of my cheeks, before they were brushed away as a hand fell on my shoulder.

“What’s the problem?” A voice spoke to me. Comforting and familiar, but I couldn’t tell. Other voices, other people spoke. So many people at the same time.

“I can’t do this… How can I…” My voice trembled, gripping the pencil. Placing my hand to my head, struggling with understanding, it hurt to try and understand.

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“Why can’t you do it?” The voice asked me as they took the paper from my hands. Several long seconds and hums, only to have the paper placed into my hands. “… …. …. …. … ….”

I didn’t understand.

“I don’t want to, I… I can’t understand.” I pleaded once more, tears still across my cheeks.

“Noah.” They called out to me, that hand on my shoulder became firm, pulling me in closer to their voice. “If you give up, then things will be so much harder. You want to be strong. A strong boy. You want to be strong, right?” They asked, shaking my shoulder a bit, drilling the idea deeper into my head.

“Yes, but I can’t–”

“You need to be stubborn.”

“Stubborn…?”

“Yes, stubborn. Keep on trying. If you’re not stubborn, you’ll just keep not understanding. Noah. Be strong and you’ll be perfect. Keep trying, Noah. We’re all here.”

The voice reminded me, I turned my head. Seeing the face of Mr. Jung standing behind me. His big hand on my shoulders, many of the employees surrounded him in the fog that encapsulated the cafe.

“Keep being stubborn. Keep being stubborn. █████.”

Stubborn.

∎∎∎

The sensation flooded into my body. The rush. The all too familiar feeling of adrenaline.

The only thing urging me on was the desire to fight. The desire not to end up imprisoned in some facility. The desire to try and run away. I could run. I could run. I could fight.

My feet planted themselves onto the ground and fought against every ounce of force and tension as the snake’s body coiled with more ferocity against me. I could be stubborn. As Mr. Jung taught me. I could hold out for this long because I could do something in this moment and that was fight and pull with all my might.

I swung my body with every ounce of power and strength I could muster. Watching as the curly-woman fought, trying to plant her feet in the crowd as several inky thorns sprung out from the backside of her sweater to try planting her body within the floorboards. Straining one another in a tug-of-war; inching her closer with each strained muscle and stressing the snake’s inky body. It was when the snake’s fangs sunk into my shoulder, an attempt to debilitate me, had been when my body’s source of adrenaline shot forward.

A burst of pain and energy tore through nerves, forcing me to bite down and grit my teeth, and pull with everything.

The rope snapped.

The snake’s body pulled apart, from the tears exploded bright turquoise liquid-ink, spraying the floorboards in ink. Both of us were momentarily stunned, but I knew who dominated in terms of physical performance.

I didn’t wait. Rushing with enough speed that I could feel the already broken floorboards beneath my feet break apart from the pressure. The palm of my hand flung itself forward into the woman’s gut as she pulled herself together, only watching as the brief composure she gained quickly exploded out of lungs along with a shrill cough. The roots used to keep her body connected to the floor broke apart from the ground as she flew back, her body colliding into the floor with a loud smack against the ground.

It wasn’t a nice sight, but I was out of it. Clothes and body dirtied with dust, illuminated ink, and bruises all around my sides.

I approached her. The sound of stressed and heavy breaths indicated that she was alive, but something in me wanted to make sure. She couldn’t have just died—what.

Having failed to avert my eyes from her form, I saw the symbols of a key by the side of her waist. Another by her calf, and another by her sleeve.

“Huh… why do you have… why do you have?” I stepped forward, feeling my fists begin to tighten. Jung. Did they frame Jung? “What did you–!?”

Run.

My body immediately turned in the direction of overwhelming hostility. The ponytailed stern-woman walked from behind the counter, a kitchen knife in hand before she dashed forward with ferocity that caught me off guard.

She’s fast. I thought.

My body pulled itself back to avoid the downward slash of her blade like some fatal limbo. I watched as the blade flew between her fingers, now holding the handle to point the blade forward with another hand against the butt of the weaponized cooking utensil, trying to drive the blade down to the side of my stomach in a single jabbing motion. My leg pulled, kicking upwards to try disarming her and the foot dropped to the floor like an anchor, throwing my fist into the stern-woman’s midsection.

She stood there.

Her body budged maybe a few inches, but she stood on her feet as the flooring beneath her cracked. She didn’t drop the knife either, still holding it tight, the blade having cut my side rather than stabbing into me.

What? I hadn’t put all my force into it, but that wasn’t different for anyone else, was she just different? A person I couldn’t just punch…?

Her hand pulled back for another jab, but now, knowing she was as strong as she was I felt comfortable. Curving and upward kick to roundhouse her chin, gaining traction from the short lag before she drove the blade down again.

Thorny roots created from ink took hold of my ankle, trying to pull me into the air or cause me to slip, but once again I forced it downwards before it had the chance. Mistakenly turning my eyes to Curls before the sense of danger came back from Ponytail's direction, this time it was a fist. My body braced itself at the sight, seeing how durable her body was, it became apparent that any damage would hurt. Using my right arm to try taking the brunt of the hit.

It was weak. I felt it, but it didn’t sting. I could take her—unease.

The same feeling of unease. It came from within me. It came from my arm. Oh god.

My arm. I need to brace my arm. I need–I need—I.

My body acted quick in response to a mixture of fear and danger, placing my left arm beneath my right arm before… boom.

I screamed.

I screamed so hard I nearly choked. I screamed at the feeling of an explosion punching through my forearms and into my chest; my right seemed to momentarily cave into itself as my body was flung into the wall.

I can… run…

My body tried telling me. It could keep moving despite the pain. It could just spike the adrenaline and keep this up. Except, I didn’t know if I wanted to keep fighting after that hit.

Her Key… it was like… a second stronger punch. A punch that broke my arm.

I tried picking myself up, but only felt myself dragged against the floor with vines reeling me in from my ankle. Ponytail held her blade, likely ready to jab it into anywhere she could knowing I wouldn’t be able to move.

I tried to be stubborn and not accept it, but my arms still hurt.

And as I nearly reached my destination, as Ponytail readied to deliver a final strike, the ceiling broke apart. All of us turned our heads, looking at another member of the Black Ring Organization staring at us from the hole. A man with golden pupils. There had been a sudden wetness by my ankle. I turned, the root had been cut, I had been freed?

“Hey! I want to borrow him real quick!” He shouted, and suddenly a line of red exploded from his arm and caught me once again by my ankle. I should’ve expected it. I could feel my body lunging up into the air and hitting against the top of the roof, staring at the man who stood beneath the sky of the two-toned green-alabaster moon.

“Hey kiddo, I’m the Blood Ring. Call me Seizon.”