Frost crept under collars, sharp enough to sting. Rain glazed the pavement where Markus walked, each pool catching light from signs above, splintered and warped. At sixteen, he already felt the weight of these streets - the glass shards near curbs, metal fencing rusting at the edges, colors sprayed across brick like breath caught mid-shout. Around every turn, something waited, low and hushed.
Here, he felt at home. Though never the biting chill, nor soaked shoes, nor close calls - what pulled him was how narrow paths held quick violence, gossip moved like sparks, life pressed hard against skin. That old kingpin? Markus couldn't recall the face or title, ignored whoever once claimed these blocks. All he sensed was what hummed beneath local footsteps: tight nerves, sharp eyes, needling urge to matter.
Far off near the sidewalk, some big kids stood by a short red wall, smoke hanging loose from their fingers, laughing under their breath at anyone walking near. Clothes on their backs showed old fights, fabric torn and fixed up again. Markus stayed low beside the shop just around the bend, eyes passing over without stopping. Inside, things felt different than how he looked. What they saw wasn't what he held. Laughter pulled at him. So did being seen, known. Walking those streets bold and unbothered - that used to be his rhythm too. Yet something deeper held its breath. That voice inside spoke lower now, steady on the edges. Safety mattered more than applause.
A sharp gust slipped between buildings, dragging scents - damp pavement, frying oil from a vendor nearby, something acrid like burnt refuse. Cold pressed against him as he moved, arms tight across his chest, chill climbing deep into his frame. The season sharpened every quiet worry, made it linger longer than it should.
A splash hit his shoes when he kicked the puddle, making him jerk back. Cold seeped through fabric, teaching things warmth never could - this place did not care for comfort. Each footfall mattered; so did each look from a stranger. Still, within that unease hummed something sharp, almost alive - an edge felt only by those who lived too close to falling. He dreamed sometimes, Markus did, of dodging shadows, outpacing threats, vanishing while others stood frozen.
Sometimes he noticed it - a kind of reflex kicking in without warning. Not magic, nothing grand - just moments when his body moved quicker than thought. Like dodging a misstep just in time. Or grabbing something midair before it hit the floor. Even spotting danger out of the corner of his eye, seconds before anything happened. Small things. But there, real. Faint signals. The quiet shake before everything shifts.
A flicker of movement caught his eye - just a cat, low to the ground, slipping through puddles. Water slid from its coat in thin threads, each drop breaking silence too loud for comfort. Its tail stood straight, alert, like it knew every shadow had teeth. He pulled the hood tighter, fingers brushing damp fabric. That kind of sureness didn't ask questions. Out here, nobody raised their hand before stepping forward. Living meant moving without thinking.
Out near the edge of his vision, there he was - Joey, small but loud, like trouble packed in a jacket two sizes too big - cutting across pavement toward a broken-down patch of weeds and rust. A knot pulled tight in Markus' gut. That one never stayed still, always poking at edges, asking why when silence would've been smarter. His feet paused. Walking off felt right, vanishing into dark alleys where nothing followed. Yet something tugged, same pull that used to drag him behind older boys whispering secrets - he couldn't look away.
A loud yell broke the stillness, then a metal crash mixed with thuds of skin on bone. Thud after thud, Markus felt his pulse hammer. Without thought, his legs carried him. Slipping into shadow between buildings, he flattened himself against damp stone. From that crack he watched - Joey boxed in, three taller kids closing in, blades catching light.
"Give it up!" one barked. "You think you can run from this?"
A heavy thud echoed when Joey's back hit the bricks, the chain slipping from his grip. One of the kids had pushed hard, sudden, without warning. Markus tensed at the crack - like stone meeting skull. His throat tightened with words he didn't speak. Help rose inside him like breath held too long. Yet something colder whispered: don't move, just breathe.
Yet something deeper pulled him into motion. His limbs shifted without waiting for orders. Fast, quiet, he slid between dark patches, keeping near the ground, noting each route. Nothing wasted, each shift sharp. Only after did thought catch up. A step sideways avoided the water. Over the wooden box he went, swift. Beneath the sagging wire mesh, his body slipped - no pause, no plan, only motion. Deep down, a pulse stirred. Not thought. A deeper push rose, sudden.
The boys moved closer to Joey, step by step. A sharp rush hit Markus, sudden and raw. His heartbeat filled his head, loud as thunder. Rain soaked through his clothes, cold and clinging. The streetlights flickered above, casting long shadows. Every breath tasted like pavement after storm. Escape routes flashed in his mind - tight turns, broken fences, a dumpster he might climb. One wrong move meant trouble waiting.
A figure suddenly charged at Markus, thinking he'd seen something - or been part of it. Off balance, Markus twisted aside, slid through mud and grime, then hauled himself onto rusted metal steps. Up above, the street played out like broken film beneath his eyes. Joey wore cuts and dark stains, yet kept shifting, swinging when he could.
Something inside pushed Markus forward, even though every thought said stop. This wasn't his battle. Yet here he stood. The rush of risk lit something deep, sharp. Not mere interest - he felt appetite grow. A need for notice, control, space among those who dared too much.
Trouble found you fast here. His mother had said keep clear, yet those words felt hollow now. Staying alive sounded simple until you stood where he did. Rules meant nothing on these corners. Warnings blew away like trash in the wind. Survival favored whoever moved first, thought faster, dared more.
A vibration came from Markus' pocket. Still, he did not answer. Likely just spam. Perhaps a threat meant to scare him away. Regardless, other things weighed heavier on his mind. Down below, one attacker stumbled under Joey's shove. The rest stayed close, moving slow, watching sharp - like predators testing distance. For half a second, helping crossed Markus' thoughts - then something caught his eye: timing in their steps, muscle memory in motion, the kind only trained fighters show. A sudden silence fell where fights usually roar. These weren't just men throwing punches - each step timed, each glance sharp, like clocks ticking under skin.
A jolt ran through him. Lighter limbs, eyes wide open. Movements came before thought - debris dodged itself, rain soaked into knowing. Each drop, each slap of wet pavement, each scrape of rubber on stone settled inside his head. Not learned. Felt. Pure. Real.
Faster than breath, Markus sprang into motion when Joey cried out a second time. Across rooftops he flew, feet barely touching cracked tiles. Down a rusted pipe he slid, jacket snagging for half a heartbeat. Silence followed his drop behind a tipped waste container. Thought vanished. Survival took over, sharp and wordless.
When he finally crossed the empty lot, those who'd attacked were gone, vanished into darkness, Joey left sore yet breathing. Behind the trash bin, Markus stayed low, gasping, soaked hoodie clinging, pupils huge. Limping forward, Joey moved close, hands pressing his side, staring at Markus as if seeing something impossible.
"You saw that?" Joey whispered, his voice trembling. "You saw that?"
A nod came from Markus. His throat tightened as he swallowed. Speech slipped away, gone. Rushing blood pulsed under his skin. Excitement twisted with dread, sharp clarity cutting through - this rush gripped him deep. That moment cracked something open. Hooked? Yes. He felt it pull.
It wasn't on his radar, Big Seth. Never crossed his mind that what he saw now - the mess, the risk, the pulse - belonged to something long gone. Markus felt it anyway - the pull of pavement, the rush found in edge and motion - not thinking why, just feeling pulled toward whatever waited inside.
A step at a time, he moved toward home. Water fell off the edge of his hood, dampened his pants, slipped along the sides of his shoes. Lights blinked, voices echoed - this place breathed like it knew things. Around each turn, something waited; some danger hid just out of sight. The small market came into view, then the narrow gap between buildings where shouting had cracked the air earlier, now quiet except for dripping puddles near the trash bins. Sharp edges returned to the world, colors pressing harder against his eyes. As the rush drained away, stillness crept in - quiet, watchful - not quite peace but close enough. His nerves stayed wide open, humming like wires after a storm, sensing every breath that followed survival.
Markus walked the streets like he'd never done before. Not watching anymore - he belonged here now, shaky, raw, tied to something real. That night, without realizing, started what came after: a slow slide toward danger, dragging him into gangs, pushing how brave he could be, how sharp his gut feelings were, even the hidden strengths sleeping inside him.
Something inside him shifted when the city took its share. Water soaked through his clothes, fatigue weighed heavy, yet breath still filled his lungs - awareness sharp and clear. Not every corner felt the same now, nor any evening quite ordinary. Voices rose from pavement cracks, murmurs carried on damp air, and somehow, he caught each one.
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