The scene that greeted them was one of utter pandemonium. Four men were trashing the place, flipping tables, knocking trays to the floor. Customers had already fled, the few who remained pressed against the walls in fear.
The men all wore green headbands, fingerless gloves, and their exposed arms were covered in tattoos. Chains dangled from their belts. And on their headbands, stitched in dark ink, was the unmistakable sigil of a coiled serpent.
Liam's frown deepened. He could feel a hot surge of anger building within him. But Ben, instead of shouting or lunging forward, let out a weary sigh.
He walked calmly towards the destructive intruders, his hands held up in a placating gesture. "Gentlemen, gentlemen," he began, his voice remarkably even. "What seems to be the trouble?"
The leader, a hulking man with a shaved head and a cruel smirk, turned his cold gaze on Ben. His voice dripped with hostility. "The trouble, old man," he sneered, "is that your weekly tribute to the Green Serpent gang is due. And we haven't received it."
Ben exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Look, I already made a payment to the Red Scorpions yesterday. I don't have any more money left to give you right now."
The leader's face twisted with disdain. In one motion, he grabbed Ben by the collar, his grip merciless and firm, utterly disregarding Ben's age.
Liam's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white. He gritted his teeth, fighting the primal urge to intervene, to throw himself at the man.
The leader yanked Ben closer, his breath hot and foul. "I don't care what you paid someone else," he snarled. "You better have our money by the end of the week, or we'll be back. And next time, we're burning this whole place down."
Then with a vicious push, he shoved Ben back violently. The old man stumbled, but before he could fall, Liam darted forward and caught him, steadying him on his feet.
A volcano of rage erupted within Liam, His chest burned with fury. He took a step forward, ready to fight… but Ben's hand shot out, gripping his arm firmly. The old man shook his head once, eyes warning him to stand down.
Liam's breath hissed between his teeth, rage boiling, but he obeyed.
The leader arched a brow at the exchange, then scoffed. "Pathetic." He turned on his heel, gesturing to his men. "Let's go."
The four thugs stormed out, leaving the restaurant in wreckage.
Jerry and Summer rushed to Ben's side, their faces etched with concern. "Ben, are you okay?" Summer asked, her voice trembling.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Ben reassured them, though his voice was a little shaky.
The two workers, their initial shock subsiding into a pragmatic urgency, immediately began the daunting task of cleaning up the mess.
Liam, however, was still seething. "You should have let me go," he muttered, his voice tight with frustration.
Ben chuckled, a tired, sardonic sound. "And do what? Give them a piece of your mind? Land a few blows and get yourself seriously hurt? That wasn't going to solve anything."
Liam clenched his fists again, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. "I don't care about getting hurt, Ben. Someone needs to stand up to these people. They can't just keep doing this."
Ben's gaze softened as he looked at the young man. "And that someone is you?" he asked gently.
Liam couldn't answer. He just breathed in, the air thick with the smell of destruction and frustration.
Ben placed a hand on Liam's shoulder again, his touch grounding. "Look, kiddo," he said, his voice low and steady. "You're a good lad, with the strongest will I've ever seen. But in this world, sheer will only takes you so far." He squeezed Liam's shoulder. "I admire your resolve, and I truly believe that maybe, one day, you can make a difference. But until then," he chuckled again, a hint of amusement returning to his eyes, "don't go throwing yourself into fights that'll get you killed."
A reluctant chuckle escaped Liam, and Ben smiled knowingly.
"Alright, come on. Let's get back to work," Ben said, gesturing toward the kitchen.
Liam followed Ben back into the kitchen, the promise of normalcy, however temporary, calling him back to his duties.
As he stood before the sink, surveying the remaining dishes, Ben's words played on repeat in his mind. "He thinks I can make a difference? What a joke." He scoffed inwardly. "I'm just a weak boy with no strength whatsoever, and I'm probably gonna get myself killed eventually."
But deep down, the thought was strangely, undeniably, comforting. It was a fleeting flicker of hope in the pervasive darkness, a reminder that even in a world that felt irrevocably broken, there were still those who believed in the possibility of change. And for now, that would have to be enough.
By the time Liam hung the last rag and scrubbed the final dish clean, night had already settled over the city. The clock above the kitchen door ticked past eight.
Ben patted him on the shoulder, slipped him an envelope… his pay, and told him to get some rest.
Liam nodded, offering a small smile before slinging his worn bag across his shoulder. The comforting hum of the diner faded behind him as he stepped outside, replaced by the restless murmur of Clovis after dark.
He didn't have to stop at the mechanic's shop tonight… that job only called him in on certain days. And he'd long since pushed other side hustles to weekends. Tonight, he could go straight home.
The subway entrance gaped ahead, its fluorescent lights flickering like tired eyes. Liam descended the cracked concrete stairs, boots echoing with each step. The tunnels below were humid and smelled faintly of oil and damp rust. People huddled on the benches… workers returning from long shifts, couples murmuring softly, a drunk snoring in the corner.
He boarded the train when it arrived, settling into a seat near the window. The metallic screech of wheels on track filled his ears as the train lunged forward, carrying him deeper into the veins of the city.
Neon advertisements flashed across the dirty glass: perfume brands, alcohol promotions, propaganda slogans plastered with smiling faces that no one believed anymore.
When the train slowed at his stop, Liam rose, pushed through the press of bodies, and climbed the staircase back to the surface.
Stepping back onto street level, the pulsating heart of the city assaulted his senses.
Clovis at night was alive.
The streets pulsed with light and noise… clubs blasting heavy bass that vibrated the ground, bars spilling out drunken laughter, cinemas glowing with animated posters for movies few could afford.
Neon signs painted the sidewalks in pink, blue, and electric green. Vendors shouted from stalls, frying skewers and selling cheap liquor in plastic cups. Cars blared horns, motorbikes weaved through traffic, and somewhere in the distance, police sirens wailed without urgency.
Liam walked through it all like a ghost. His expression neutral, his pace steady, his eyes never lingering too long on the pleasures around him. He wasn't here for any of it.
He passed a whorehouse, unmistakable in its presentation. Women leaned against doorframes, bodies bathed in colored light. Their clothes left little to the imagination… plunging necklines, short skirts, stockings. They cooed to passing men with honeyed voices, each word dipped in sensual invitation.
"Come have some fun, sweetheart."
"You look tense, baby, we can fix that."
One of them, tall with long dark hair, tilted her head at Liam and blew a kiss. His gaze caught hers for a split second. And in that moment, the system's cold words flashed in his mind like a scar:
Lose your virginity within 24 hours… or die.
Liam's jaw clenched. He tore his eyes away, muttering under his breath. "Pull yourself together, Liam. It's just a stupid game." He shook his head hard, as though clearing cobwebs, and quickened his steps.
The noise of the city dimmed as he entered the quieter part of his neighborhood, streets lit only by the occasional flickering lamp.
It was here, in the relative silence, that he felt it.
A shift in the air.
A prickling at the back of his neck.
The undeniable sense of eyes on him.
But Liam didn't stop walking. His stride remained calm, unbroken, but his senses sharpened. He moved through corners and alleys with practiced awareness, letting the city fold around him.
The prickling feeling stayed. Persistent. Heavy.
He risked a subtle glance, his eyes flicking over the darkened facades of buildings. There was nothing apparent.
But Liam knew better than to trust this conclusion. Instead he furrowed his brows. "I think I'm being followed," he stated inwardly.
But suspicion wasn't enough. He needed to be sure.
At the next intersection, Liam angled his walk toward a brick wall where a neon sign buzzed above. He slowed ever so slightly until the sign flickered, casting shadows onto the pavement.
That's when he saw it… A shape that didn't belong.
Another shadow was overlapping his own… darker, leaner, and moving in sync with him.
Liam let out a soft sigh. He was right… Someone was trailing him.
But he didn't panic, instead he smirked faintly to himself. This stalker, whoever they were, wasn't a professional. They were too clumsy, too easy to detect. If they hadn't been able to stay hidden in the labyrinthine alleys, they were likely inexperienced.
Liam mind raced. He could break into a run, lose them before they could close the distance. His apartment was just a few blocks away.
But then another thought hit him: Running and losing them would only confirm their interest and lead them to his doorstep. And if they followed him home… if they learned where he lived… Lila would be at risk.
He couldn't let that happen.
Which meant he had no other choice than to confront the stalker.
Liam exhaled. The decision solidified in an instant, a steely resolve hardening his features. His heart thumped faster, but his stride remained measured.
"Alright, this shouldn't be too hard," he thought. "And luckily for me, this person has a small body. I should be able to handle them." He tried to reassure himself, focusing on the shadow's seemingly slender build.
But then he corrected himself sharply. "No, Liam. Don't be stupid, shadows can distort and deceive. I can't just enter a fight with this person without having an upper hand." he pondered. "I need to use the element of surprise."
And then… an idea clicked.
Liam increased his pace all of a sudden, his stride lengthening, his movements becoming more pronounced. He'd been moving with a deceptive slowness earlier, letting the stalker believe they had the advantage.
But now, he needed to draw them out, to force their hand.
He increased his speed, his casual walk transitioning into a brisk purposeful stride, then a near run.
As predicted, the shadow behind him accelerated, lengthening its stride to match his, the pursuit becoming more evident.
Liam exhaled, a slow, controlled breath. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drummer, but his mind was a calm, calculating machine.
Then, he steered himself towards a long, unobstructed stretch of sidewalk… no alleys or corners to duck into, no cover to hide behind. Nothing.
Liam chose it on purpose. It was a hunter's lane. Anyone following him would have to expose themselves.
And sure enough, the stalker did.
The figure stepped fully into view behind him, hooded, clad in black, keeping the gap but following openly now.
Liam tilted his head slightly, glancing over his shoulder just enough to see the figure. All black clothes. Hood drawn low. Face hidden.
He smirked and kept moving, leading the stalker on.
He continued forward to the end of the long path.. a sharp turn into a narrow alleyway and the beacon of his impending plan. Each step bringing him closer to the confrontation.
Finally, Liam reached the turn and, with a burst of controlled energy, pivoted swiftly into the alley. His eyes scanned the ground immediately, searching for anything he could use.
And luckily, a crowbar lay discarded beside a dumpster, rusty but solid.
Without hesitation, he lunged, his fingers closing around the cool, rough metal. He snatched it up and raced back to the mouth of the alley, positioning himself just out of sight, the crowbar held tightly in his grip.
He gripped it firmly, waiting patiently as the stalker neared the turn. Their shadow grew larger by the second, indicating their approaching figure.
And then, they finally arrived. The stalker turned to the corner into the alley.
Liam didn't waste time, he swung the crowbar down in a sharp arc aimed at their head. It was fast, brutal, and calculated.
But unexpectedly, the stalker's instincts were sharper.
With a speed that defied logic, they ducked beneath the swing, the crowbar missing their skull by a hair's breadth.
Liam's eyes widened in sheer disbelief at the miscalculation. But before he could even process the failure…
BAM!
A fist cracked into his jaw like a cannon. The impact was cataclysmic.
His head snapped back, his body momentarily weightless as he was launched backward, a sickening spray of saliva erupting from his mouth. It felt as though he'd been rammed by a speeding truck, the force of the blow sending him careening across the alley.
He crashed into the metal dumpster, then crumpled onto the hard ground, his jaw throbbing with an agonizing, fiery pain. The punch hadn't just damaged his jaw; it had shattered his composure, his very state of being.
His vision blurred, the harsh alley lights dissolving into a hazy kaleidoscope. Consciousness ebbed, a tide pulling him under.
Through the haze, he saw the stalker step forward, movements calm, graceful.
They stopped in front of him and, with deliberate slowness, pulled back their hood.
It was a girl.
Curvaceous, with a cascade of vibrant blue hair framing a face that was both ethereal and hauntingly familiar, eyes glowing sapphire under the dim alley light.
Liam's fading eyes widened. There was no mistaking it. This was her.
The girl from his dreams. The one he'd tried to save in the alley.
His mind reeled, thoughts colliding like shattered glass.
"What's going on? Wasn't it just a dream? How is she real?"
The girl's face was calm, indifferent, as she looked down at him. No pity. No anger. Just cold observation.
Liam's vision blurred further, darkness closing in at the edges. His last thought before losing consciousness was a desperate whisper in his mind:
"What the hell is happening…?!"
And then, darkness took him.