Familia ✧ MILES MORALES ❨o.h.❩

3 - Not Some Damsel

LUNA ALMOST ALWAYS WALKED HOME ALONE.

Normally, after a long day at the Big House, she just wanted some time to herself, so she would take a complicated, usually scenic route back to her house. She took a different route every time, since there was no telling what could happen if she had a pattern that someone could follow, but she never went too far out from Brooklyn to avoid getting lost.

So, after spending most of the day at the Big House, Luna said goodbye to the gang and began her trip home. Araceli had offered to walk with her, but Luna had politely declined, saying that she would be fine on her own. Nothing really bad had ever happened to her while she was walking, so she figured that streak would continue.

Which meant that as Luna headed down the street, she wasn't even remotely worried. The sun had pretty much gone down, which meant the streetlights were lit and there were fewer people out on the streets. A cold breeze was blowing through the city, sending chills up Luna's spine as she wrapped her jacket tighter around her body and made a mental note to not wear a thin shirt in this type of weather.

Luna continued down the street, humming the song "Memory" by Betty Buckley to herself. She was still upset about what happened to José, but she had decided early on to let the others handle it. She could fight just like the rest of the gang, but she had never killed anyone before, and she certainly didn't want to. That was the one thing that she swore she would never do.

As Luna kept going, the hairs on her arms suddenly stood up. She slowed down a bit, looking around at the people around her. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, but her defenses and her guard were now up. Something definitely isn't right, she thought.

Luna continued walking, her eyes flitting back and forth as she eyed her surroundings. Then, a splash of red caught her eye, and she frowned before jogging over to one of the walls of the buildings. As she got closer, she saw it was a crude spray painting of a red moon with a black "x" in the center - the symbol of one of her father's rival gangs, the Blood Moons. Confused, Luna ran her hand over the painting; the Blood Moons' territory was farther away, and she knew this area of Brooklyn was unclaimed, so the symbol shouldn't have been there. Unless...

"Shit," Luna hissed, dread filling her body as she looked up. Then, she suddenly felt the presence of more people. Straightening up, she looked over her shoulder and eyed the people behind her. There were four boys who looked like they were around her age, wearing dark red hoodies and wicked smiles.

"Look who it is," one of the boys said. "A pretty girl wandering around our side of Brooklyn."

Luna turned around, her expression neutral as she cocked her head; she couldn't let them know who she really was, or else things could really go south. "Your side? What do you mean?"

"This is our turf now, pretty girl," a second boy said. "We own this place."

Luna backed up, raising her hands as the boys walked up to her. "Look, I don't want any trouble. I'm just trying to get home."

"You shouldn't have wandered here, then," another one of the boys said. "We don't like trespassers."

"We might be willing to make an exception," the first boy said. "That is, if you cooperate."

Luna set her jaw, knowing exactly what these boys wanted. So, she balled her fist before socking the first boy in the jaw, then used the distraction and bolted away.

She heard the boys giving chase, but she kept running, determined to get away from them before they could catch her. However, as she rounded a corner to throw them off, something suddenly grabbed her arm, halting her in her tracks. Luna spun around, kicking the person on the shin, but as soon as they let go, more boys swarmed around her, grabbing onto her arms and shoulders and forcing her back against a wall. Luna thrashed in their grip, trying to free herself, but there were too many of them. So she stopped struggling and simply glared at the lead boy, her chest heaving in both anger and fatigue from running.