Nikolai stood in his small apartment, a few careful steps back from the broken door.
The quiet outside felt unnatural. Someone was there; he could hear the faint scrape of a shoe against the hallway floor.
He trusted his own ability to fight. In his former life he had been more than capable.
He knew how to read opponents, use his surroundings, and finish a fight quickly.
He had killed before, not because of impulse but because he had been trained to survive. Against ordinary thugs, he would normally have no hesitation.
But this was not his old body. The frame he now carried was lean and underdeveloped.
His muscles lacked endurance, and his reflexes felt a fraction slower. He could still fight, but there was no guarantee of the same precision or power he once had. Every move would cost more energy than it used to.
The second concern was more serious. This country did not have strict gun laws. With enough connections or money, anyone could get a firearm.
He had no way of knowing what the men outside might be carrying. A single gun could change everything before he had a chance to react.
Because of those two factors, he forced himself to slow down and think. He could not treat this like his old life where he always controlled the outcome.
A reckless move could end the second chance he had been given before it even began.
If he chose to fight, he would need to end it fast and without giving them a chance to pull a weapon.
Swift action, one strike after another, enough to make them run or fall before they understood what happened.
Nikolai adjusted his grip on the knife, switching it to his stronger hand even though it was still tender from the wound.
He scanned the room quickly, looking for anything that could give him an edge, the chair by the table, the heavy wrench near the toolbox, even the narrow hallway where only one man could pass at a time.
He stayed silent and kept breathing steady. He would not speak first. He wanted to hear what they would do, what they would say, and how many were really outside before he made a move. Every second of listening could help him judge distance and numbers.
Another thought stopped Nikolai be7fore he moved.
If he killed them, then what? Three grown men were not easy to hide. Even if he found a way to drag the bodies out, someone in the building might see or hear.
If he left them inside, the smell alone would bring attention and the police would arrive.
That wasn't a risk he could afford. He had no contacts here, no safe disposal method, and no reason to invite that level of heat so early in this life.
The plan changed. He would not kill. He would subdue them fast and hard enough to send a message, but he would keep them alive.
He tightened his grip on the knife and waited near the door.
There was a pause outside, then one of the men spoke, voice low but clear through the thin door.
"Okay… we're coming in now."
Another voice, younger and trying to sound confident, muttered something close to the door. "Why are we even saying that?"
A third voice answered in a quick whisper, half amused, half nervous. "I saw it in those movies. Makes it more scary and shit."
Nikolai almost smiled despite himself but stayed silent and still.
The first man jiggled the handle, forcing the weak lock. The door creaked as it started to swing open.
Nikolai's muscles tensed, ready for the first move.
The door opened slowly and three men stepped inside. Nikolai's eyes moved over them fast.
The first one through the door had his head wrapped; thick bandages covered one eye.
The second's nose was swollen and dark from the break. The last man, the one who had left untouched yesterday, now had his right hand wrapped in cloth. Maybe cut, maybe sprained.
Nikolai almost laughed. They were beaten and patched together. Whoever sent them back either underestimated him or didn't care what state they were in. That could work to his advantage.
But there was no time to dwell.
The man with the broken nose spotted him first and shouted. Nikolai moved before they could organize.
He stepped out from beside the door and shoved the first man hard into the second, using the small hallway to keep them from spreading out.
The man with the broken nose stumbled forward and crashed into his bandaged friend.
Nikolai kicked the door shut behind them, trapping them inside. Then he swung the heavy wrench he'd taken from the table earlier. It smashed across the broken-nose thug's jaw and sent him sprawling to the floor.
The man with the bandaged eye lunged, swinging wildly with his good arm.
Nikolai ducked and drove his shoulder into the man's ribs, forcing him back, but his own smaller body struggled against the thug's weight.
The bigger man wrapped an arm around Nikolai's neck and tried to crush him against the wall.
Nikolai twisted, dropped his weight, and slammed an elbow into the man's stomach.
As the grip loosened, he shoved up under the chin and broke free.
Before the man could recover, Nikolai grabbed the edge of the doorframe and used it for leverage to drive his knee into the man's stomach, then slammed the wrench across the side of his head.
The man hit the ground and didn't get up.
The one with the broken nose was trying to rise again.
Nikolai turned and struck quick, kicking him in the knee to sending him down and cracking the wrench into his shoulder to finish it.
Both men were out cold now, groaning but not moving.
Only the third thug, the one with the bandaged hand, was still standing. He hadn't moved in to help and now stared at Nikolai from across the room, breathing hard.
Nikolai stood upright, sweat on his forehead, the smaller body trembling a little from effort but still ready. He glanced at the man's wrapped hand and smirked.
"I did that," he said, voice low and sharp. "Your boss must've been disappointed, huh?"
The man flinched at the words, eyes darting to his fallen partners, and tightened his jaw but didn't step closer.