Julian wakes up leaning against a wall.
His head throbs. Something warm drips down his temple. He touches it. Blood. Fresh.
The memories hit him in fragments. The news. The missile warnings. World War 3 trending on every feed like it was another celebrity scandal.
Fuck that.
He'd just wanted to live peacefully. Go to work. Eat decent food. Maybe save enough to move somewhere quieter.
But the street in front of him tells a different story.
Fire eats through the second floor of an apartment building across the way. Black smoke curls into the grey sky. A restaurant's windows are shattered, tables overturned inside. The pharmacy next to it has its door hanging off one hinge.
Someone's screaming a few blocks over. High-pitched. Desperate.
Julian pushes himself up. His legs shake but hold.
That's when he sees them.
Two guys in the middle of the street. One's on the ground, face-down in a puddle of something dark. Not moving. The other stands over him, fist raised, bringing it down again. The sound of knuckles hitting flesh is wet. Heavy.
Julian's feet move before he decides to.
"That's enough."
His voice comes out rougher than he expected.
The guy on top freezes. Slowly turns his head. He's maybe thirty. Stocky. Knuckles split and bleeding. His eyes are flat.
"Mind your own business."
Julian's heart kicks up a notch. He can feel it in his throat.
"He's out cold. You won't—"
"I said." The guy stands now, fully facing him. "Mind. Your own. Business. Or else."
Julian's hands twitch at his sides. He wants to walk away. Every instinct in his body is screaming at him to turn around and disappear into whatever's left of this shattered city.
But his feet don't move.
"Look, I'm not trying to—"
"This bastard," the guy says, jabbing a finger at the body on the ground, "tried to run without paying me. You understand? He owes me. So I'm teaching him a lesson."
Julian glances at the unconscious man. His face is swollen beyond recognition.
"I think he learned it."
The guy's jaw tightens. He takes a step forward.
"You got a problem with how I handle my business?"
Julian's mouth goes dry. He should say no. Should apologize and back off. But the words won't come.
The silence stretches.
"I'll teach you a lesson too," the guy says, "if you don't walk away right now."
Julian stays put.
His brain screams at him. Move. Run. This is stupid.
But his legs won't listen.
The guy stares at him for another beat. Then he grins. It's not a friendly expression.
"Alright then."
He cracks his knuckles. The sound pops sharp in the smoky air.
Julian just sighs.
"Old man, if you want it, you'll get it!"
Julian's voice cracks halfway through. Not the tone he was going for.
He slides his left foot forward. Right foot back. Hands up. Orthodox stance. The muscle memory's still there, buried under three years of office work and takeout dinners.
He lasted two months in that high school boxing club. Quit after the first real sparring session left him with a nosebleed that wouldn't stop.
The guy just smiles wider.
"So what if you know boxing, you little bastard?"
He's right to not give a fuck. He's got at least four inches on Julian. Sixty, maybe seventy pounds. His shoulders are thick. Hands like hammers.
Julian's mouth goes dry.
The guy doesn't bother with a stance. Just walks forward, casual, like he's crossing the street.
Then he throws.
A right hand. Straight. Fast.
Julian jerks back. The fist cuts through the air an inch from his nose. He feels the wind of it.
His heart slams against his ribs.
The guy doesn't reset. He follows immediately with a left hook aimed at Julian's temple. Julian ducks, but not enough. The knuckles graze his ear. Pain flares hot and sharp.
He stumbles sideways, catches himself.
Move. Keep moving.
The guy presses forward. No wasted motion. He throws another right. Julian slips it, barely, feet tangling as he circles away.
"You gonna run?" the guy says. Not even breathing hard.
Julian's lungs are already burning.
He tries a jab. His form's decent enough. Snaps out clean.
The guy swats it aside like he's brushing off a fly.
Then he lunges.
Julian sees the punch coming. A straight right aimed at his mouth. He tries to pull back but his heel catches on something. Broken concrete. His balance tips.
The fist connects.
Not clean. Glances off his cheekbone instead of his jaw. But it's enough.
White light explodes across his vision. He hits the ground hard, shoulder first. The impact jolts through his bones.
His ears ring.
Through the haze, he sees the guy standing over him. Breathing steady. Knuckles dripping.
"Told you," the guy says.
Julian rolls onto his side. His face throbs. He can taste copper.
Get up.
His body doesn't respond.
The guy steps closer. Raises his boot.
Something moves in Julian's peripheral vision.
A shadow. Fast.
The guy's head snaps to the side. He staggers, catches himself against a rusted car door.
Julian blinks through the ringing in his skull.
Someone's standing between them now.
A woman. Early twenties maybe. Short hair. Torn jacket. She's holding a length of rebar, still raised.
"Pick on someone who can fight back," she says.
Her voice is calm. Too calm for someone who just clocked a man twice her size.
The guy touches his temple. His fingers come away red. His expression shifts. The grin's gone.
"You just made a mistake, girl."
She doesn't lower the rebar.
"Maybe. But you'll find out."
Julian pushes himself up on one elbow. His vision swims.
The guy looks between them. Then at the unconscious man still sprawled on the pavement. His jaw works like he's chewing on something bitter.
Finally, he spits blood onto the asphalt.
"This ain't over."
He turns and walks. Doesn't run. Just leaves, unhurried, like he's got all the time in the world.
The woman watches until he disappears around the corner of a collapsed storefront. Then she lowers the rebar and turns to Julian.
"You're an idiot."
Julian coughs. Tries to sit up properly.
"Yeah. I'm getting that."
She crouches next to him. Her eyes scan his face. Clinical. Like she's assessing damage.
"Can you stand?"
He nods. Tries. His legs cooperate this time.
She doesn't help him. Just waits.
When he's upright, she glances at the unconscious man.
"He's still breathing. Barely."
Julian wipes his mouth. His hand comes away streaked with blood.
"Who are you?"
She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she looks past him, toward the burning building. The flames have spread. The smoke's thicker now.
"Someone who knows how to survive," she says finally.
Then she starts walking.
"Wait—"
She stops. Doesn't turn around.
"You coming or not?"
Julian looks at the man on the ground. At the empty street. At the smoke rising into the grey sky.
He follows.