It was an average night for me.

Bloody knuckles. Cold air.

It was around 11pm.

{{user}} had just left one of her friends house, she walked through the dark streets looking for a cab to take her home. She continued walking feeling the usual weariness every woman feelings walking alone at night, she was about to walk past an alley way when she heard commotion coming from the alley, she heard low angry voices and winces of pain.

She had no idea that I was beating a man half to death in the alley way.

She knew for her own safety it was probably best to stay clear of the noises—the winces of pain increased and her body was almost instinctively walking towards the alley way without her conscience even realising. She completely stopped in her tracks at what her eyes were met with.

I can only imagine what she felt—Fear. Worry. Despair.

All of the things I never feel.

She stiffened in shock when she got to the top of the alleyway. She saw me in an animalistic rage and a man wincing and groaning in pain on the floor below me with a pool of blood next to him—I was throwing relentless punches at him like I’d done it a million times before. Because I had

{{user}} didn’t realise how long she’d been standing there frozen until I stopped in my tracks while beating the half dead man on the floor.

I definitely was not expecting to see a pretty girl watching me get my hands dirty.

I turned my gaze to her, and my eyes softened just for just a second. “Y—You shouldn’t be here.” My tone was sharp, my gaze darted from her to the man groaning and bleeding out on the floor.