"You're fucking useless," Niko snapped, like it was Ken's fault they got surrounded.
Ken stayed quiet and scanned the area for any possible exit. He wasn't lying—his body really wasn't in peak condition.
"Kill them!" the tall thug shouted.
The first swing came fast.
Leon ducked as a bat swung past his head. He tackled the attacker and threw wild punches, but it left his back wide open—and the others started beating him like dough on a board.
Just hearing the cracks was enough to make anyone flinch. It didn't take long before he coughed up blood.
Next was Niko. He pulled a small knife, ready to stab—but got hacked by a machete before he could even move.
"Please! Stop… I surrender.."
Niko screamed in pain, but the ambushers didn't stop. They just laughed and kept hacking at him—like he was some pig at the butcher's block.
Dre was still alive. Seeing he was young, they ganged up on him and beat the hell out of him. He couldn't even fight back.
Finally, a bald man came at Ken with a bat. He sidestepped, caught the wrist, and slammed a knee into the ribs.
A younger one rushed in, quicker than the last. Ken dropped low and countered with a an uppercut, snapping the kid's head back.
Another charged in wild. He let the guy overextend, then counter punched.
'A gap!'
That was his signal. Without wasting a second, he bolted toward a narrow alley.
The space looked like a dead end—tight walls boxed it in on all sides—but he wasn't planning to stay grounded.
He sprinted straight in, pushed off one wall, kicked toward the opposite side, and launched himself upward like a free runner.
Below, the thugs scattered into the alley like rats, still trying to make sense of what just happened.
Ken moved across the rooftops without slowing down. He leapt over the gap between buildings like he'd done it a hundred times.
When he felt confident that they already lost track, he dropped onto a streetlight pole and slid down fast and smooth—like a firefighter in an emergency.
Staying in the shadows, he scanned the street for a taxi. Nothing for a while. Then finally, headlights approached.
He stepped out and raised a hand to flag it down.
But what pulled up wasn't a taxi. A black SUV.
'Shit!' He turned to run, but a group of gangsters stepped out from the dark.
But there were still the rooftops of the stores.
Ken backed off just enough, then ran straight toward the nearest wall.
"We have your younger sister!"
He stopped mid-jump.
A man stepped out of the van. He wore a black coat over a crisp white shirt—too clean for a street thug.
Ken narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you."
The man lifted his phone and turned the screen toward him
A photo. Nathalie—unconscious in the backseat of an SUV.
"Let her go!" he shouted, rage cracking through his voice like glass under pressure.
"Ken, you should watch your tone," the man warned.
"How do you know my name?"
"Of course I know you. Local thugs say you're the best fighter in Robert's crew. They also told me you adore your sister. Can't blame you—she's beautiful. I've had to remind my men not to touch her."
"You fucker!"
His eyes locked on the nearest thug holding a weapon. If it came down to it, he would take the weapon and kill every one of them.
"I'm Don. Leader of the Serpentel Gang. No need to rush things. Let's talk."
"I don't care who you are. Let her go!" his voice rising without restraint. Just imagining her in their hands made his blood boil.
"Let's not get emotional. I'm not here to fight. I'm here to offer you a deal."
"Betray Robert. Help us take him down. In return, your sister goes free—and you walk away with twenty grand. Cash. No strings."
Ken stepped forward. Every thug tightened up, fully aware of his fighting power.
"You really think I'm dumb enough to trust that?"
The gangster leader shook his head. "Doesn't matter if you trust me. You won't find her on your own—and we both know that."
Seconds passed before he said anything.
Trusting a guy who would stoop to kidnapping an innocent girl was plain stupid. But right now, there weren't many options left.
"Hand her over first. Then I'll help you take down Robert."
Don raised an eyebrow. "You think you're in a position to negotiate? She's my insurance."
He looked Ken up and down like sizing up a stray mutt.
"You're Robert's dog, right? Good at following orders? Well, don't worry—I'll feed you better if you run with me."
That was it.
The bastard never planned a deal.
"You're all dead." Ken charged straight at the leader.
The nearest thug stepped in to intercept, but Ken didn't slow down. He drove a fist into the man's throat, caught his collar mid-stumble, and hurled him back into the rest like a bowling ball through pins.
Another came from the side with a pipe. Ken ducked under the swing and drove his elbow hard into the guy's ribs.
As the man gasped for air, Ken grabbed his head and cracked his jaw with a rising knee.
It wasn't over yet. More enemies rushed in.
A machete swung toward him in a wide arc.
Ken stepped in close, letting the blade pass just behind his shoulder. He caught the attacker's wrist with both hands, twisted it, and yanked the weapon free.
Now the machete was his.
He didn't hesitate. One clean swing, and the blade sliced through the attacker's neck, severing it completely.
The body hit the ground with a dull thud, head rolling a few feet away.
Ken finally snapped. Years of buried anger, guilt, and frustration erupted all at once. His hands trembled—not from fear, but rage boiling past its limit.
"You fuckers made me do this!" Ken roared. "I'll kill every last one of you—even if it's the last damn thing I do!"
Ken stood over the headless body, chest rising and falling. He gripped the machete tighter, ready to cut down anyone who block his way.