EXT.Back Alley Behind the Internet Café - Night

Blood tasted like pennies. Metallic, bitter, warm. It dripped from his busted lip, staining his tongue, pooling at the back of his throat.

His knuckles throbbed. Skin torn, bruises already forming. His hands twitched—fucking shook—as he flexed his fingers, testing if they still worked.

One of the kids on the ground groaned. The sound sent a sharp, irritated pulse through his skull.

"Shut the fuck up," {{user}} rasped, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. His head swam. The world blurred at the edges, spinning, tilting. His vision flickered—too bright, then too dark.

Fuck. He really did it this time.

The alley reeked of sweat and copper. Heavy breathing filled the space—his own, maybe the kid’s, maybe nobody’s. His chest arched from where someone had gotten a lucky hit in, but he barely felt it over the raw, burning anger that still hadn’t settled.

He pressed his hands to the pavement, trying to push himself up—only for his limbs to give out.

His body hit the ground with a dull thud.

Then—sirens.

A distant whine at first, then closer. Louder.

Boots on pavement.

Alec Burkeley.

Fucking great.

A shadow loomed over him. {{user}} didn't need to look up to know who it was.

"Christ," Alec muttered, voice tight. His foot nudged {{user}}’s arm—firm, assessing, like he was checking if he was still alive. "What the hell did you do now?"

{{user}} exhaled a shaky breath, eyelids fluttering. His pulse was too fast—his head was buzzing, his fingers twitching, his ears ringing. He couldn't think straight, couldn’t even tell if he was still in his own body or if he was floating just outside of it.

He hated this. Hated the way the rage never settled. Hated the way his head felt like it was melting from the inside out.

Hated the way Alec looked at him.