That Saturday evening was like any other in the city. Lady Winter brought with her damp, cold rains that further darkened the already gray city. The cobblestone streets, older than the kings of the medieval times that used to walk them, were intertwined with drab post-World War II buildings covered in meaningless graffiti, torn posters, and peeling paint.
The bitter cold was inescapable, it covered you as soon as you stepped outside. Every inhale felt like a sharp needle piercing your lungs and every exhale became a plume of frosty mist. Your extremities ached from the bitter chill, and each step was a struggle as the rain made the pavement slick and slippery.
The bustling city streets were as lively as ever, illuminated by the headlights of cars and the glowing screens of smartphones in the hands of the throngs of people crowding the sidewalks. The hum of chatter and laughter filled the air as thousands of people made their way home, eager to spend time with loved ones, unwind in front of a movie or computer screen, or escape their homes and lose themselves in the night, alcohol and music. This was the time of escape, happiness, and relaxation.
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“... urwa, kurwa, KURWA! “- fuck, fuck, fuck–was the song coming from the lips of the disheveled man running through the streets, trying not to slip and rip his ass cheeks across the pavement.
The man’s movements were energetic and erratic. He was running late again for his night shift at the Latino club where he sometimes bar tends. It wasn’t the best job, but the pay was good and the coworkers were tolerable. The bouncers were a box of joy, and he even found a friend in one of them — their boss. It was also that same boss who was the reason why Lukas, barely slept an hour after finishing his shift at 5 in the morning. And, cultivating diligently the idiotic tradition he always regrets, he chose to go for a few “nose beers” with his bouncer buddy. 14 hours and 3 grams later, the outcome is a random bystander bearing witness to a 22-year-old student slamming his body into the doors of a club he was supposed to be in 30 minutes ago.
“You’re late again, you fucking degenerate.” barked Lukas’ manager, Sara, as he stumbled into the club. “I knew it was going to be like this when I saw you two ending the shift together. Is the other idiot even going to show up, or do I need to call his boys to take his spot?” Despite her rough exterior, Lukas knew that Sara was like a grandmother to him, who would beat him with a spoon but then feed him the best food he had ever tasted with love.
“I don’t know, it depends,” answered Lukas, taking off his soaking jacket as he followed Sara behind the bar.
“Depends on what?” she asked, her voice tinged with anger as she stood behind him while he changed into his black work shirt.
“If he can get more... uh... sugar without falling asleep,” Lukas replied.
SLAP SLAP SMACK
“Ow! Sara, what the hell?!” Lukas cried, dodging Sara’s angry slaps.
“MORE?! ARE YOU HIGH RIGHT NOW?” Sara demanded, her teeth clenched in anger.
“No, stop hitting me! I slept for an hour. I’ll be fine.” Lukas tried to explain.
SMACK
“Get dressed and go out there before I snap your neck!” Sara commanded.
“Yes, boss!” Lukas yelled and quickly went out to serve the never-ending stream of alcohol orders from his customers.
Order after order, drink after drink, shot after shot. It’s easy to fall into a trance-like routine of mechanical, automatic movements. The noise is so loud that you can only read lips and see clients as mere orders, not as people. The music doesn’t even register, it’s like the sound of waves for someone who lives near the seaside. Despite all of this, there’s still a lifelessness in Lukas’s eyes.
He’s energetic and responsive and can smile, laugh, or frown, but the eyes always remain the same. Encompassing every detail around, always a little bloodshot, the brown iris seems darker and gloomier than it should, like a well leading into a bottomless hole. The skin around his eyes is always darker, as far back as he can remember, and even childhood photos show that he was born looking tired and done as if he were just observing his life from behind a glass wall, not participating in it.
People say that “the eyes are the windows to the soul”, but for his own sake, he always hoped that’s not true.
His menacing looks didn’t exactly help with the friendly aura his eyes were supposed to emit. Standing tall at 1.90m, with broad shoulders and thick arms developed from years of physical labor and combat training, the size of his barrel chest would put most ladies in the bar to shame. He had a rather slim waist and legs, as his old injuries and ingrained need for cardio and running prevented him from putting on excess weight. That, and his love for stimulants. His Chemical Romance. His pale skin dotted with self-made tattoos, hidden mostly under clothing, only added to his rough and tough appearance. His messy, dark black hair styled in a pompadour hairstyle like a crown on his head and a few days of stubble on his cheeks only furthered the image of a big guy with a massive hangover - and perhaps that’s exactly what some people saw.
Fortunately for the exhausted bartender, the night was coming to an end. It was 3 A.M. and the crowd was thinning out. Most of the bar lounges were occupied by unconscious groups of rowdy guys, hyperactive and wasted women, and drunk couples who still needed a few more drinks before leaving. There were a few minor scuffles throughout the night, but the security personnel handled them as they usually did. The bouncers bought some drinks, danced, and even went outside for some smokes with Luke. They helped fill his nose with something to help him survive the night. Even now, he watched as the group headed downstairs for another line. It’s always amusing to him to see a group of 120 kg men made mostly of muscle and testosterone cram into a tiny, urine-stained toilet stall together.
Oh, and how excited and happy they were to do it.
Their boss, Cupid, called for Luke to join them, but he just smiled and waved his friend away. He just did 2 lines when they weren’t looking and Sara was eyeing him with the intensity of a falcon. He was content to just relax and watch as the group headed downstairs for their next round of lines.
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The DJ changed the music to something slower and a bit more quiet. People gathered on the dancefloor. He could take a step back, rest his ass on the back counter and lean his back against the alcohol cabinets behind him while observing the unsavory events taking place in front of him.
“UGH”
*Now that is just excessive. I don’t know if that chick is kissing him or pretending his bald head is a lollipop. Jesus, I hope this shit will end soon. I’m almost out of speed, my back hurts like a bitch and I can feel my feet so far up my ass I could kick my own teeth through the throat. Fucking Saturdays…*
‘’Sorry, could I get a rum and coke?”
“Yeah, sure, coming right up!”
*Goddamn it, can’t you people drink some water... in some other club? In a different city? Thank God and the local chemistry enthusiasts I somehow survived this night. An hour, maybe two more to go, and we will close this den up. Then some beers, and a whole Sunday in bed. Ah yes, not sleeping for 48 hours and then being unconscious for 14-16... that’s what I call a healthy balance. As they say, fitness isn’t only a passion, it’s a lifestyle. And balance is the most important thing in life... that and protein... Do I have any exams soon? I’ve got to check that when I’m back.*
“Huh? What’s that commotion at the entrance? Fuuuuuuck, and the crew is in the middle of a bumpy ride... SARA! There is some trouble brewing! I’m going to calm it down!”
“Don’t start any trouble! And don’t attack anyone or I’ll kill you!!”
“Aye, aye Boss! Call the idiots outside when they are finished to help me!”
*Egh, at least I’ll stretch my legs. First, leave my phone and empty my pockets. Don’t want to get it broken again or get caught by the police with something. Let’s wipe my hands, take a sip of an energy drink, and off we go.*
Luke walked around the bar, pushing his way through the inebriated masses. With every step, he could hear more and more commotion. Gaining speed, he elbowed his way out of the entry tunnel of the club, his eyes fixed on a pair of dudes in the midst of a fight. Or rather, at the moment where it should end if the world was peaceful, butterflies flew while we smiled, and the sun was smiling back at us like in Tvtubbies.
Well, that wasn’t the world that Luke ever experienced. One of the guys, visibly in a state that Luke easily recognized as a drug, alcohol, and ego-induced mania, was holding the other scrawny guy by his collar, pushing him hard against a car. The difference was stark. The well-dressed, tall, athletic guy with blond hair and a fist full of golden rings, drenched in blood, was using them to make minced meat out of the other guy’s face. *Is that a piece of skin on the rings? No matter.*
The scrawny guy was your typical young student, with more gel in his hair than thoughts in his head. He must have said something wrong, or said it at the wrong time, or simply been in the wrong place... or just been the unlucky one.
From previous accidents and issues with law enforcement, Luke knew not to intervene physically. His own experience had taught him that the police didn’t appreciate heroes, no matter how valiantly they defended the idiots from the rich boys. They liked to fill their quota and put innocent young bartenders in cold holding cells with toilet paper so thin, you could see through it. Usually, he would try to talk things down, but tonight was not the night for that. Fate had other plans, as the car being used as the ring lines in this bout belonged to Cupid.
With barely a moment to register all that and a sigh at his own stupidity, Luke shoulder-charged the rich boy, attempting to distance him from the car.
That was the mistake number one.
With a loud THUD, he succeeded but felt that something was wrong. He had tackled many people before, in rugby, MMA, or the streets. None of them gave him this feeling. It was like he had imagined hitting a tree with a car. He knew the only reason that guy got pushed back was the cobbled floor and the element of surprise helping him.
He turned his head to the right, wanting to tell the scrawny guy to get back to the club, but the dude hit the ground like a pound of boiled spaghetti... the blood on his mashed face even resembled tomato sauce.
Mistake number two.
That turn had cost him precious seconds. Normally, if you get tackled to the ground, you’re left dizzy, disoriented, and confused. But mister rich boy over here seemed to only grow more enraged and cocky. In those seconds, he closed the distance. The moment Luke’s head turned to start speaking, the man launched a sharp right hook, smashing him square in the cheek with a force that exceeded his frame’s capabilities. Luke felt like he had been catapulted three, maybe five steps back near the front wheel of the car.
Disoriented and with a bitch of a pain radiating from under his eye, the world spinning, Luke reacted on instinct. He put his guard up, covering his head, hunched down with arms close to his chest, lowered his body, and braced his ass against the car, trying to regain his sight and locate his opponent.
Once again, the man appeared faster and stronger than anticipated, stopping his momentum on his right leg, and almost digging his foot into the cobblestone floor. The glint in his eyes and the manic grin were the last things Luke noticed before a blinding pain bloomed from his ribs, stealing his breath away. Something was wrong, really, terribly wrong. He knew punches to the body. His daddy made sure of that. That was not a normal punch…it left a lingering sensation. He felt his insides swell, and a substance? Or a feeling of it coated his chest.
*Those swings could be his downfall, * he thought to himself.
*No more space, no more momentum,*
With a loud "HUF", he expelled all the trapped air from his lungs, focusing on not losing his footing. He took a deep, swishing breath through his mouth, clenched his teeth, and exploded forward.
The two men locked in a clinch, a black-dressed bartender using all his might, his right leg caught behind the left foot of the blond rich boy in a turquoise blazer stained with droplets of crimson blood. Luke managed to spin them both and push the other guy into the car, breaking the side mirrors with his hip. Fortunately, Mister Spilled Spaghetti started scurrying away from the car, getting to safety in all that confusion, one less thing to worry about.
Now, another lesson Luke knew by heart: In a street fight, there are no rules, no safety nets. You never know if someone has a knife or a group of friends ready to kick your spine out through your ribs. That’s why when shit starts, it goes full throttle.
Recognizing the slight disorientation and a wince of pain on his opponent’s face, Luke grabbed his right arm, pulling it down with his left hand as if starting a lawnmower. He shifted his balance and launched an overhead elbow strike, one of his best yet if he had to be honest. His shoes squealed from the force exerted, his knees cracking with the twisting movement, hips rotating, transferring all that force through his spine, to end up at the end of a sharp elbow, carrying his whole body weight, momentum, and drug-induced frustration at the evening.
The elbow strike landed perfectly, cutting open the rich boy’s face above his eye and sliding down to smash the cartilage in his nose, ripping the skin and causing a cascade of blood.
But then, Luke felt something was wrong.
Mistake number three.
Sometimes, there are these moments where realization simply hits you like a train. You fucked up, you shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have drank so much, shouldn’t have had sex with her friend. A monumental mistake usually has a crescendo moment where your mind shuts down in panic, understanding the consequences of your action.
If Lukas had that moment, he didn’t notice it, as less than a second after he felt happy with his handy…elbow work, he felt his left arm jerk upward and then being crushed; the sensation radiating up to his lungs. He heard a pop in his ears and found himself on his back, gazing up at the clear night sky.
*The sky was really clear tonight. You can even see some stars tonight. That’s a nice view, and a rare one. The clouds cleared up. That’s good. It will be good to go back home like that. Why am I seeing it though? Wasn’t I doing something? Why am I on my back? UGH*
The rich guy moved faster than most eyes could register. The moment his nose started pointing inward, his grin disappeared, and his eyes lost that glint of manic fun, of a predator playing with his prey. They looked at the meddling scum like its time to reclaim a debt long overdue. He lost all interest in playing with them. That was a step too far. Time for a lesson.
He Pushed, spreading his energy into a blast wave flowing out from his palm, closing it around his enemy's torso.
*Best not to leave any lingering traces in the air.*
He already left some of his essence using that second punch. He was glad, it should rip the man's blood vessels, maybe flatten his lung in the next few days. Right now he could feel the fucker’s meat being shredded under his skin, his bones creaking open with microfractures.
*Weird, his chest somehow resisted being shredded. No… not resisted, simply absorbed and accumulated the energy instead of dispersing it. Even better, he will suffer and he will die.*
The black shirt tore at his shoulder as he was launched, twisting him in the air sideways, smashing him loudly into the side doors, his body bouncing off the car, dropping on the floor of the parking lot like a sack of potatoes. Glass rained down on him, spilling from his barely rising chest and face like sand. Blood flowed from his mouth and nose, a grim sight. The internal bleeding on the left side of his body was also not something to smile about.
So wouldn’t be that another kick into his right side. Luke could swear he got lifted off and hit the car again. All of it was like looking from behind a curtain, a really painful but mind-numbing curtain.
His consciousness began to fade, drawn into something he couldn’t quite grasp. It wasn’t the usual blacking out. Everything was quiet, yet everything was screaming. He felt it rising up, yet drowning in it.
The last things Luke remembered were Cupid and the band rushing out from the circle of spectators, descending upon his opponent. That, and the night sky—so pretty, so dark, so full of shining stars.