“Please watch my back, Croc. I don’t think I can handle a surprise ambush,” Max muttered as he walked through the abandoned section of Jackson High School. His clothes were tattered and smeared with dirt from so much walking he and Croc had done to reach this section of the school. 

“Yeah, I know. Nothing can get past these arms,” Croc replied, patting his arms with a cocky grin painted on his face.

Max and Croc continued walking through the tight corridors and up the worn down stairs to finally reach the roof of the section. 

The roof was riddled with corroded pipes and railings that looked like if you put weight on them, you might fall over the edge. The safety nets that once circled the roof were now halfway bent and sagging outwards which created a bridge to the main roof of the school.

“This is good, Croc. All we have to do is fix it up a little and it will be perfect,” Max excitedly said, his eyes glowing with ideas.

“I don’t think so, Max,” a voice erupted from behind them.

Max and Croc froze, the silence broken by a familiar voice.

“Dammit, what do you want, Jackson?” Max grumbled. 

“Nothing. In fact, you know what I don’t want.” Jackson stated, exiting the shadows to stand in front of the duo. 

“You already have Jackson School. Why do you feel the need to bother us?” Max whined, his arm pointed to his chest.

“That’s just the thing, Max. Only I can operate at Jackson School,” Jackson declared, stepping forward. 

 “Fuck off with that, Jackson. You’re already rich. Literally go do something with your life instead of bothering us!” Max exploded, also stepping forward.

“Why would I do that? I love stepping on ants,” Jackson replied. In a swift motion, he turned his body and lifted his right leg, aiming a kick at Max’s head.

Max barely ducked in time, Jackson’s kick slicing through the air above him. The force of the missed blow sent a whistle echoing in the silence.

“Croc!” Max shouted, jumping back.

Croc charged forward like a bull, aiming to put Jackson on his back. His massive frame caused the corroded room to creak under his weight.

Jackson didn’t flinch. As Croc approached him, he calmly sidestepped and delivered a hard knee at Croc’s stomach. The sound of the impact reverberated across the roof.

“Gah!” Croc growled, staggering but not falling from the kick. He clutched at his stomach, glaring at Jackson. “Gotcha.”

Max lunged from behind, aiming to tackle Jackson while his attention was on Croc. But that didn’t work. Jackson was quicker, much quicker. He ducked and pushed upwards with a strong force. With a clean sweep, Max hit the floor with a grunt, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

“You two should’ve stayed in the cafeteria,” Jackson taunted, picking up a pipe from the floor.

Croc eyes shot wide open and he instinctively sprinted towards Jackson. Croc lunged, but Jackson swiftly stopped him with a kick to the shin. Croc dropped to his knees, and before he could react, Jackson swung the pipe down to his temple. Croc’s eyes rolled back as he went limp.

“Croc!” Max gasped, clutching his ribs and trying to stand.

Stolen story; please report.

Jackson wiped the sweat from his brow. “Last chance, Max. You don’t want to end like him,” he pointed at Croc as he chuckled.

Max thought about it, but he couldn’t. He raised his hands, palms out in surrender.

“That’s what I thought,” Jackson said, his voice calm but firm. “This is my school.”

Max stumbled over to Croc’s unconscious body and swung his arm over his shoulder. He pulled with all his might, but Croc didn’t budge.

“I…can’t…he…won’t…move,” Max stammered, unable to meet Jackson’s gaze. 

“He’s not dead. I pulled my hit before I struck. He’ll wake up tomorrow with a strong headache,” Jackson disclosed before crossing the sagging net bridge and disappearing into the school. 

______________________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, across the town of Sathe in a high-rise building, two gangs were deep in conversation. The room was dimly lit by a fluorescent ceiling fan, casting long shadows across the porcelain floor. A wood table stood at the center, around which sat The Prophet, the leader of the Third Eye, and Loren, the owner of the building and leader of the Miramundo Gang.

The Prophet sat with his hands folded, his long silver fang rings shining amongst the light. Across from him, Loren adjusted her broad-brimmed hat while a cigarette hung from her mouth.

“Can you believe that we’ve let Jackson run around and build his own foundation? The little brat has been tightening his grip on the schools,” Loren muttered, exhaling a thick stream of smoke. “He took down two kids today. One of them almost cracked their entire skull open.”

The Prophet frowned. “Yes, that boy’s ambition. And while that means less foot soldiers for us, ambition is a good thing. Think of it as an opportunity for all of us to finally stop being so idle.” 

“You say that, but be honest with me. Are you worried about him?” Loren asked, taping her cigarette against the ashtray.

The Prophet shook his head. “Of course not. Third Eye is in a very good position right now. The problem lies in what he represents. If he keeps acting like he owns the schools, then every single young crew will be forced to join him. He’ll be very much untouchable. A reputation like that will be impossible to tear down.”

Loren's eyes narrowed. “I don’t buy it. He’s nothing much than a small ant. He could only dream to deal with what Miramundo is currently in.”

The Prophet smirked. “And what could that be?” 

Loren chuckled. “Not so fast. This isn’t what this meeting was for. Tell the truth, are you thinking about cutting Jackson down early?”

“No, no. That would be…inelegant. I want him to grow and let nature take its course. You never know what nature will bring…either new prey or predators.

Loren raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mean? The two kids who got humiliated by Jackson?” 

The Prophet’s smile grew. “Desperation breeds evolution. If they want it enough, they’ll evolve.”

A brief silence enveloped the room, broken solely by the sound of Loren’s cigarette crushing against the ashtray.

“I refuse any part in this. Miramundo and I will stay out of this business. That’s not to say we won’t be watching.”

The Prophet cackled. “I know you will, Loren. You never change.” 

And with that, the meeting ended.

______________________________________________________________________________

Max groaned as he lowered Croc onto the floor of an empty classroom. 

“Good, there’s nobody in here,” Max whispered. 

He had carried Croc back into the main section of the school, avoiding any students and faculty on the way. Most of the adults at Jackson School were oblivious to Jackson deeds, but they would not think twice to punish anybody else. 

The room was cluttered with backpacks and other school utensils. Like nothing had happened. But who could blame them? They hid in their bubble while their perfect lives continued. 

Max ripped off his jacket and pressed it against Croc’s head, trying to slow the bleeding. His breathing began to settle, but his face was pale.

He sat back against the wall, wiping sweat from his forehead. His entire body ached. His pride was shattered. All that was left was his rage to sit with.

Jackson had completely humiliated them both.

No—he had owned them.

And what stung the worst? He held back.

Max clenched his fists, slamming his hand against the tile floor.

He could still hear Jackson’s taunts echoing in his head:

“This is my school.” 

It was the way he said it. Cold. Like Max wasn’t even worth a second of his time. Like Croc wasn’t worth the effort going the full length for.

Max’s chest burned with anger blowing past his pain. Pure hatred coursed through his veins. 

Jackson thought he was untouchable. Thought he could step on people and walk away as if nothing ever happened.

But he was wrong. 

Max’s hands trembled, but not from embarrassment. Not from humiliation. Not from fear.

But from the raw emotion that he had towards Jackson. 

Max glanced at Croc, his childhood friend, lying there unconscious. Then down at his own bruised body.

Weak.

They had nothing. No power. No name. No strength. 

But that had to change. 

Max inhaled sharply, pushing himself to his feet. His ribs roared in pain, but he ignored them. 

I have to consume Jackson.