Internet-Degenerate

Fun fact: This chapter was not worth the wait. But don't worry, for I have dealt with all IRL events this week, so as long as nothing unexpected pops up, I should be back to releasing chapters whenever I can for the next few days. None of you care, but I'm telling you anyway.

Oh wow, I can't believe this reckless and dangerous plan that had been born from a lack of personal experience from the planners resulted in failure. Who woulda thunk? But then again, even I wasn't expecting a gun. It was pretty foolish of me not to, since all their methods for business are illegal. I stroll into the restaurant and make my appearance, slurping my slurpee as annoying as I possibly can, because pissing off the gangster with a gun is a good idea.

"Wow..." the goon said, as he observed my lax attitude. "You actually had the guts to come out." He seemed genuinely impressed. "Or maybe you just don't see too well." The underling waved the handgun so that it glinted in the light. 

"Just 'cause I'm blind in one eye, doesn't mean I'm bind in both. I can see just fine." I slurp my drink some more.

"Then you think this is a toy or something? This is a Russian Tokarev, so-"

"Yeah, I heard the gunshot, dude," I say impatiently. I take another sip of my drink, irritated. The delinquent seemed really confused with my actions.

"...So why the hell are you here?" he asks. I gesture towards Chloe while slurping my very cold slushy.

"Because of her," I say, and continue drinking.

"Oh, I see. So this girl was your girl after all, eh? If you got two pretty girls you're stringing along, you oughta spread it around, ass-"

"OW, ARGH! PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR A SECOND, I GOT A BRAIN FREEZE!" I place my head in my free hand as a sharp, piercing pain spread throughout my skull. I forgot how much these hurt. Next thing I know, there's another gunshot, and I feel my other hand start to burn. My drink goes flying out of my hand, and a bunch of red colored ice gets splattered all over my hand and starts melting on it, mixing with the blood that started to ooze out from my hand. This fucker really just shot my drink, didn't he? He also blasted a hole straight through the palm of my left hand, but honestly, the brain freeze hurt more. 

"CAN'T YOU BE SERIOUS FOR ONCE?!" The delinquent at the top of his lungs. He was furious. I don't think he likes to be taken lightly.

"FUCK YOU, I'LL BE SERIOUS WHEN I WANT TO BE!" I yell back, equally as angry. My head hurt, my hand is currently hurting, and the drink I paid a dollar for is all over the place. I wasn't in a good mood. The underling let out an irritated sigh and turned to Chloe. 

"Fuck off," he told her, and gestured towards the exit with his chin. He released the petrified Chloe from her headlock and thrust her forcefully away. He aimed his gun at my face. "You get outside, too," he ordered. "Our boys will take care of you out there."

"Huh? You're really gonna execute me out in the streets? I doubt even your cops can overlook that."

"Just get the fuck outside, kid."

With a gun pointed at me and really not feeling like dying, I comply. Just outside, I see Chloe, deathly pale and frightened. She was frozen in fear at the sight of roughly twenty men standing menacingly outside the restaurant. They must've been 'the boys' that were going to take care of me. Over half of them were equipped with 2x2 planks of wood, roughly a meter in length. These guys are all gonna beat the shit out of me.

"Oi, Chloe," I address her, and she snaps back to reality. "Wait for me at the bus stop. I'll meet you there in... I don't know, 20 minutes?" If I survive. "Don't worry about calling for help. The police have already been called," I lie. Chloe opens her mouth to object, but I'm not having it. "Just go," I order her, and reluctantly, she leaves. The old man and the thug with the gun exit the restaurant.

"Walk," the thug says. I start walking forward, held at gunpoint; towards the two dozen men who will beat me within an inch of my life if I try to run... How am I supposed to get out of this? Can I get out of this?

How am I supposed to... escape...

Seraph stopped thinking. He couldn't think of any way to escape from these thugs, let alone do it unscathed. As he dragged his meagre, scraggy body to the group, they stepped out of his way, making a path for him to follow down a deserted, narrow alleyway. They closed in behind him as he hobbled through. As Seraph approached ever closer to the back alley, he took off his scarf and tracksuit jacket, dropping them at the entrance of the alley. The Goons didn't care about his actions and thought nothing of it, merely stepping on his discarded clothing as they continued forward. He limped forward, with the entire group of thugs stalking close behind him. Seraph thought of running, but decided against it. Even if he could outrun them, he was certain there was another group waiting on the other side, so he just kept walking... until he judged that he was halfway in the alley, and that all the thugs behind him were stuck with him. Seraph saw this back alleyway as a chance. The narrow lane could only fit three people side-by-side, and that's if you really try to shove them in. Fighting over a dozen men in an alleyway where you could only be attacked from two sides was much easier then fighting them out in the open, where you could be attacked from anywhere by everyone. It was also too cramped to properly swing around the planks of wood they armed themselves with without hitting one of their own. 

In one swift yet clumsy movement, Seraph turned around and charged the gang. Seeing this, one of the bare handed thugs ran at him and threw a punch. Seraph spun and ducked under him, avoiding the punch, and the thug staggered forward carried by the force of his own momentum. At the same time the first thug missed, another one reeled back his fist, only for Seraph to sweep his legs and send him falling forward. Seraph stood back up just in time to shove his foot into the chest of a charging third thug, pushing him back into a fourth. A fifth thug appeared to Seraph's right, after he narrowly missed being taken down by the other two. The fifth swung a plank of wood down at Seraph's skull, but Seraph dodged under it and barged him into the wall. He then grabbed the thug with both hands by the shirt and clumsily threw him behind him. Then, from Seraph's left, a sixth thug threw a left hook at him. Seraph grabbed the thugs arm with his bleeding hand, pivoted behind him, and awkwardly struck him in the back of the head. Seraph turned back around just in time to catch a glimpse of a seventh thug throwing a punch at him. Seraph swerved backwards and under the strike, hitting the seventh thug with a bungling excuse for an uppercut when he rose up. An eighth thug managed to strike Seraph straight across the back with a piece of timber. The plank broke upon impact, and Seraph arched his back in pain. As Seraph staggered a step forward and let out a moan in pain, the eighth thug struck across the back and, again, breaking the plank across his back. As Seraph stumbled, the eighth thug reached out to help up one of his friends back to their feet. While he did, a ninth thug grabbed Seraph by the shoulders and tossed him back. Seraph couldn't steady himself, and he was thrown onto the ground in the middle of the group. This all happened in nine seconds.

While on the ground, Seraph, for a lack of better terminology, got his ass kicked. He was cursed at, kicked on and stomped on over every inch of his back by half a dozen goons as he lay there huddled up like a tortoise. The beating only lasted five seconds, but it felt like five hours to Seraph. The only reason they stopped was because Seraph managed to grab onto somebody's leg. When he did, Seraph stood up and grabbed the thug by the collar with another hand. He was that thug as a shield and charged right into one of the groups he was surrounded by, pushing them back. He shoved his human shield off of him, and sent that group tumbling down. He gave himself enough space to catch a quick glimpse of the end of the alleyway. His clothes weren't there, so he had to turn around and go through the other group of goons. He heard a thug running up behind him, so as he turned, Seraph blindly threw a punch that landed in the side of a tenth goon. As the punch landed, Seraph was once again struck across the back with a plank of timber that broke on impact. Not letting it deter him, Seraph dizzily swung around, his fist cutting through the air. The goon who struck him was well out of his range. An eleventh thug from behind him kicked him in the back, and Seraph was knocked down to the ground again. He huddled up as he had before as a barrage of boots kicked, punted and stomped on him. Most of the kicks were flimsy since the goons were all crowded together in a narrow space and weren't able to get a good hit in, but some were going to result in bruises. The beating lasted a little longer than the other one, and only stopped because one of the goons got down to grab Seraph by the scruff of his neck. The twelfth goon took out a switch knife, raised it above his head, and stabbed it straight into Seraph's side. Seraph cried out in agony, and the goon threw him back down to the ground with the knife still in him. Seraph landed on his arms and knees and suffered in silence as the searing pain in his right only worsened. He focused on enduring the scorching pain, and played dead while doing so.

"Piece of shit," heaved a goon while lightly shoving Seraph with his foot. At this point, all the goons were breathless; some more than others. Others were groaning a clutching where they've been struck, whether it was from Seraph, friendly fire, or just tripping over their own feet. They all recollected themselves, and Seraph remained still.

"Fuck," a thug cursed, breathing heavily. "He's not dead, is he?"

"Who cares if he is?" asks another goon. "It's not like it's a problem for us."

"It is a problem!" the thug yells. "It'll be a massive fucking problem for us if you killed him!"

"Why? We were going to kill him anyway, weren't we?"

"The Boss said he wanted him alive, you fucktard!"

"What?! Fuckin' WHY?!" The goon who stabbed Seraph was beginning to panic, having realized he went against orders and possibly killed the target.

"Haven't you been paying any attention? He was supposed to be a hostage! You know, to get to Terra?"

"Terra?!" The goon looked at the boy on the ground, and then back at the man who was admonishing his actions. "You mean this is Terra's-"

Before the goon could finish, Seraph shot back to his feet. With a roar, he grabbed the goon who stabbed him and threw him into his friends.

Despite having a knife in his side and the dizziness he was experiencing due to the loss of blood, Seraph had caught a second wind. 

As soon as the thug was thrown, another came at him with wooden plank, aiming for his head. Seraph simply ducked under it, and the goon carried himself past him. Seraph kicked another thug in the chest and pushed him back. The goon that just ran past him turned around and struck Seraph's back. The plank broke, and the goon swung with such force that he basically threw himself into the wall, but Seraph didn't so much as flinch. Another goon tried to get on his and pull the knife out, but Seraph clocked him in the jaw, sending back. Woozy, Seraph ran forward a few steps before turning around to face the goons. He had finally managed to tear his way through; the thugs were all in front of him now, and his goal was just a few meters behind him. Seraph dizzily took a wobbly fighting stance, looking like a drunken boxer. He may have been lightheaded, but he was confident he could land a few strikes. A goon came tumbling forward with a wooden plank in hand. He tried to take a swing at Seraph, but he stumbled over his own feet, and the timbre flew out of his hand and broke against the wall. As the goon hit the floor, Seraph kicked him in the face as he tried to get back on his feet. The goon was knocked on his back and curled up in the fetal position, covering his bleeding nose. A thug that was clutching onto his ribs staggered forward ready to strike with a punch, but when he was within distance, Seraph jabbed him in the jaw, and the thug fell on his back. Another thug lurched forward from beside him, but Seraph gave him two quick, consecutive punches; first to the gut, second to the cheekbone. The thug he jabbed in the jaw a second earlier tried to hit him with a right hook, but Seraph caught with his arm and punched him twice in the face, cutting his cheek. Seraph threw him at an incoming thug, and they both tumbled back. 

Seraph continued to slowly meander backwards with a hole in his hand and a knife thrust into his right lumbar, bashing down his foes bedraggled and possessed as they charged at him. It was a very clumsy fight on both sides, and it only got clumsier as the fight dragged on. The thugs would sometime swing and miss, and everyone would constantly slip and stumble. In this dark, dank alleyway emitted sounds of bones crunching, flesh being pounded and painful groans as blood was shed. It was roughly five minutes of pummelling, kicking, flailing, and beatings. Seraph could see the fear in his opponents, as they edged one another on to attack him first. Somewhere along the way, the tables had turned, and now the two dozen men were frightened of the one. The scariest thing about Seraph was that he wasn't even trying to be scary. He just was. The goons looked at him and saw a ferocious demon. They saw a fighter with nothing to lose; and there was nothing more dangerous and scarier than that. At the end of the brawl, all of Seraph's enemies were left on the floor, writhing around and groaning in pain. Seraph himself was shattered by the amount of fighting he had done. His knuckles were bleeding, and he suspected that the bones in his fingers, hands, and even arms were fractured to some degree. Seraph tries to walk away, but he simply falls over, heaving. As much as he tried to stand back up, all he could manage was to force himself to crawl backwards with a knife stuck in him, but he only made it so far before falling flat on his back. After lying on the ground for a few seconds, he found enough strength to use the wall to help him stand, and he limped alongside it until he got to his jacket and scarf. Gritting his teeth, he pulled knife out of him as if he were just ripping off a band-aid. He tossed the knife to the side, and using his scarf, wrapped it as tightly as he could around his abdomen to staunch the blood flow. He slipped into his jacket and zipped it up, covering the blood-seeped scarf around him. Before meeting back up with Chloe, Seraph decided to pop by the convenience store and pick up some bandages. Maybe some fishing string and a needle as well. Seraph thought. And also some hydrogen peroxide if they have any. It's a convenience store, I'm sure they conveniently have everything I need to properly dress these wounds. 

The reasons why Seraph was willing to perform first-aid on himself instead going to the hospital were simple ones. He thought it was too much of a hassle, and he didn't want to deal with strangers.