The movie theatre lights faded behind him. Arron's backpack bounced against his shoulder as he stepped onto the slick Bronx streets. Rain slicked alleys stretched before him, neon signs flickering weakly through the mist. He had walked these streets a thousand times, but tonight, something felt… wrong.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness. Then another. And another.
Jack.
Three men.
Metal bars. Daggers. Faces masked in cruelty. Boots squelched in the wet ground as they closed the distance.
"Well, well, who do we have here?" Jack's voice was smooth, almost lazy, but every word dripped menace. Smoke curled from the cigarette dangling from his lips. A scar cut through his left cheek like a frozen smile. His coat hung loosely over ripped jeans and scuffed boots.
Arron froze, heart hammering.
One of Jack's crew cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp against the quiet rain. His leather gloves gleamed wet. "Just kill the kid, Jack. Let's get it over with."
The other spat on the ground, grin wide, exposing a missing front tooth. Cigarette ash fell onto his scuffed boots as he leaned against the alley wall.
Arron swallowed hard. His stomach twisted. His knees weakened.
"I—I don't want any trouble," he stammered, backing toward the brick wall. The wetness soaked through his clothes as rain dripped down his hair. "Please… just let me go."
Jack stepped closer. Metal bar resting lazily against his shoulder, eyes cold and calculating. "Trouble? Oh, kid… you're in the wrong alley at the wrong time. We're looking for someone to take the fall for a little problem. And you? You're convenient."
Arron's mind raced. Think. Survive.
"I—I can help," he said, voice cracking. "I know how to… cover it up. You don't have to plant it on me—I can make it… disappear."
The scarred gangster laughed, cracking his knuckles again. "Disappears? You? Kid, this isn't some game you watched in the movies. You don't know what you're talking about."
Arron's knees hit the wet asphalt. He sat, hands pressed to the ground, shivering. Rain soaked his hair and clothes. Tears mixed with the droplets. "I—I'll do anything. Please… just let me live. I know how to make it clean. I can… I can fix it."
The missing-tooth gangster leaned forward, grin wide. "Oh, this'll be good." He exhaled smoke, letting it curl around Arron like a warning. "Jack, maybe we should just—"
Jack raised a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. Then he turned his piercing gaze on Arron. "You're clever, kid. You want to live? Prove it. Tell me exactly how you'd make the problem… vanish."
Arron gulped. Fear and desperation powered his mind. "The guy… he's rich, right? Leaving the club late. You put him in his car, driver's seat. Push it off the bridge. East River. Cops think accident. DUI. Alley? Bleach. Rain washes most of it. Phone goes in the river. Wallet stays. Nobody suspects a thing."
Silence fell. The rain drummed in the background.
The scarred man's grin widened. He shook his head, muttering, "Kid… you might just survive this."
Jack studied Arron for a long moment. Then he let out a slow breath. "Alright… we'll compromise."
The missing-tooth gangster's grin turned wicked. "Finally," he said, letting out a low chuckle, "he talks like a man who wants to live. I like this kid."
Arron's hands shook as he pressed them harder into the wet ground. His entire body trembled. Rain ran down his face, mixing with tears. He whispered, voice breaking:
"I'll make it work… I swear I'll make it work."
Jack's lips curved into a thin, cold smile. "Good. Then start thinking. And don't screw it up."
The gang stepped aside. The kid who had come back from the movies wasn't a kid anymore. He was a man stepping into a world of blood, lies, and survival.
And deep down, Arron knew… tonight, his life would never be the same again.