I sat in the principal's office, my heart pounding like a drum. Kirk, my classmate, sat beside me, his eyes red and swollen. I couldn't tell if it was from anger or the torrent of tears streaming down his face. The office walls were made of polished wood, exuding an air of authority. The desk, on the other hand, was rusted and worn, adding a touch of discord to the room. Mr. Broll, our stern principal, had a cluttered desk filled with papers, pictures, and various knick-knacks that seemed to vie for attention.

Mr. Broll was a bald man, and the sunlight streaming through the window accentuated the gleam on his hairless head. His beard framed his lips, but there were no sideburns to connect it to his hairline. His hazel-green eyes had a tendency to narrow whenever he felt disdain for someone or something. He wore a green shirt neatly tucked into his pants, and polished dress shoes peeked out from beneath his desk.

"So, I hear you two had a little brawl, eh?" Mr. Broll asked, shifting his gaze from me to Kirk, or at least I assumed he did.

He let out a weary sigh and removed his glasses. His hand constantly moved to his bald head, as though he was more stressed about something other than our altercation. I suspected it had to do with the multitude of pictures of his wife adorning his desk.

We remained in silence for a moment before Kirk couldn't contain himself any longer. "It was him, he punched me first!" Kirk shouted, his finger jabbing accusingly at me.

I snapped back, my voice rising in frustration. "You were about to punch me! It was self-defense, ever heard of that?!"

Mr. Broll didn't seem particularly interested in our heated exchange. "Hush!" he shouted, bringing an abrupt end to our argument. "I have no time for you troublemakers. Here's your punishment: both of you will have detention for the next two weeks."

My jaw nearly hit the floor in shock. My eyes widened in disbelief. I had never received such a severe punishment before. Sure, Kirk had never punched me before, but did anyone expect me to just endure it silently? Kirk had a history of assaulting people, and the school rarely did anything about it. But the moment the victim fought back, suddenly they were equally culpable? The victim had to suffer consequences as well?

I grabbed my backpack and stormed out of the office without a second thought. I headed straight to my science class, fueled by a simmering anger that refused to dissipate.

The school day finally came to an end, and I was exhausted but still seething about what had transpired. Here's where things got complicated. Being an introvert by nature, it wouldn't have been an issue for me in itself. It was what my mother would say that worried me. My mother was somewhat unhinged, and if she found out about this altercation, I would be in deep trouble.

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As thousands of students poured out of the school, all chatter and excitement about an upcoming prom, my irritation grew. To calm myself, I pulled out my phone and started playing a mobile game. There was nothing wrong with that, right?

I began walking down the bustling street, cars zooming by, the wind brushing against my face. It was precisely what I needed after such a trying day. The sounds of the city, honking horns, and the hum of life all surrounded me. I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure.

I had to take a shortcut, though I wasn't particularly fond of it. My mother had a knack for sensing when I wasn't home at the expected time, and her suspicion was never a good thing.

I entered a small forested area, trees closing in on me from all sides, creating an almost protective barrier. I glanced around as a fleeting thought crossed my mind, then continued on my way. But then I glanced back.

This time, I stared, my curiosity piqued. I saw two black SUVs parked side by side. A group of men and women in black suits and sunglasses were getting out of the vehicles. I had no idea what was happening, but my curiosity buzzed with excitement.

I crept closer to a nearby tree, making sure I remained hidden from their view. I controlled my breathing, but my heart refused to cooperate. It felt like it was ready to burst from my chest. I attempted to take deep breaths several times, but it was difficult to do so.

I slowly turned my head to get a better view of what was unfolding. One of the women had brown hair tied up and resting on her shoulder. However, they weren't wearing typical suits; they were clad in sleek black onesies from head to toe, even their shoes.

Was this some sort of bizarre exercise or dance performance?

Then, I noticed a group of guys, all dressed in matching uniforms. They wore tight, fingerless gloves, and their helmets had tinted visors, making it impossible to see their faces clearly. Their outfits consisted of gray vests, ties, and dress shirts neatly tucked into their pants. Belts adorned their waists, distinguishing them from one another.

There were five on each side, and I couldn't determine who was in charge, but I was eager to find out.

It soon became apparent that this wasn't a dance or exercise routine. Suddenly, one of the guys in vests threw a punch at one of the agent-looking men. In a matter of seconds, they were all embroiled in a brawl, exchanging punches and kicks. The sound of their fists and legs colliding, accompanied by grunts of pain and effort, pierced the air.

Was this some kind of live wrestling match?

I wanted to leave, to distance myself from this strange spectacle, but a strange fascination held me in place. I watched as one of the onesie-clad women leaped onto one of the guys in vests and executed a move that involved flipping him over her shoulder. They both landed on the ground, but the guy appeared either unconscious or seriously injured, while the woman emerged victorious.

The brawl continued, resembling a brutal boxing match, until one of the guys in vests dodged a punch and then hurled one of the agent men into a parked car. The car's windshield shattered, and the front end appeared deformed from the impact.

Were they engaging in some form of underground fighting? My curiosity grew stronger, even though I realized this wasn't a "nice" match by any means.

But then, something happened that sent a chill down my spine. I saw someone brandish a gun, its muzzle pointed in my direction. Perhaps another person was approaching, and I just happened to be in the line of fire. However, my fear intensified as the gun fired, and the bullet pierced the tree I was using for cover. My breath caught in my throat.

I needed to run, and I needed to do it immediately.

I bolted away as more shots rang out, narrowly avoiding being hit thanks to the trees that shielded me. I couldn't stop running, I shouldn't stop running, and I wouldn't stop running until I reached home.

I glanced back to see if anyone was pursuing me, but what chased me were the relentless bullets that whizzed past me.

Finally, I reached my house and pounded on the door with trembling fists. My mother answered, her expression filled with concern. "What's wrong?" she asked.

I couldn't find the words to respond, so I rushed inside and raced upstairs, feeling as though something malevolent was still chasing me.