Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck! I'm so dead, I'm so dead, I'm so dead.
Denny was sprinting desperately through the packed market streets of The Hub. He should've known better. But no, he just had to pick a fight. To be fair, how was he supposed to know the guy had backup? He dipped into an alleyway, slamming his back up against an overstuffed dumpster.
The knife in his hand was stained with only a dribble of blood, but it was more than enough to incriminate him. Nobody in The Hub would believe he was innocent (and he wasn't). Of course, there was nothing resembling a police force in The Hub. Shithole, as its residents called it. And Shithole didn't need any police. If you committed any wrongdoings inside the boundaries of the town, you could kiss your good impressions goodbye.
So, as you can imagine, Denny was suddenly much less welcome here than he was a few seconds ago.
----
"WHERE ARE YOU, PUNK?! I'LL SKIN YOU ALIVE!"
Malo was a big deal in Shithole. He wasn't the biggest, or the strongest, but by far he was the meanest, and by extension the most feared. Whereas most upstanding citizens of The Hub had got there by union and do-goodery, Malo and his Strangers were simply too big of a presence to be ignored.
As of a few seconds ago, Malo only had one eye. Some limp-dicked little brat had gotten pissy with him, and managed to whip out a knife before Malo could get him on the ground. He got away, too, and that's what really set him off.
The gangster huffed, clasping a hand over his left eye socket. He was seething. Wherever this little shit was, he was gonna get a squashing. He couldn't hide for long.
