108.

  You know when an addict relapses, they tend to spiral hard and really indulge in their particular vice of choice. Well, I found myself tearing into the third group of red-jumpered thugs of the night. This pair had really just been minding their business, standing on some dead street corner, bothering no one, just trying to sell their drugs in peace. Then I descended upon them. They weren't as brave as the other pairs. They didn’t fight. Instead, they tried to run, and I hunted them down in a dark alley.

  The fight was brutal but swift. I kicked one in the back with my Jet Boot, sending him flying into a wall so hard that it cracked the brickwork. The second one stood and fought, and we were swinging wild haymakers at one another in the near darkness. I didn't even bother going for any of the remaining coins I had or any tricks. I just wanted to throw hands with this idiot and teach him a lesson. I didn't know if he was one of the ones on the bridge, one of the ones who had cussed out Marilyn, one of the ones that had headbutted me and stolen what little we had, but I beat him like he was.

  I caught him with two stiff right hands in the jaw and then a left hook in the stomach. He stumbled back, and I kicked him as hard as I could in the side of his knee. His leg collapsed out from underneath him, and I grabbed him by his stupid red hooded jumper and began laying punches into his face. He tried to defend himself, raising his arms to protect his face, but I kept pummeling him. I landed blows around his ears, the top of his head, his jaw, his nose, his forehead, his eyes. I hit anything I could get to. Then, once he had curled up, I began throwing knees at him until he fell to the floor. Then it was a barrage of stiff boots to the torso and one to the face, and he fell still.

  I was breathing heavily now, adrenaline thundering through my body, and for the first time in two months, I truly felt alive. I truly felt like I was living again, not in some self-imposed exile in my own casket of a room, hiding from the shadows and the monsters. Now, I was the monster in the shadows again, and it felt good. I reached down and rifled through his pockets, taking his meagre earnings. Then I grabbed his backpack full of drugs and, while he watched me groggily, one eye swollen completely shut, I upended the bag and poured the contents down the drain before throwing it back at him.

  "Stay out of the Mulberry Estate, because next time I'll put you down for good," I snarled at him before kicking his unconscious friend in the back and taking to the skies again.

  I didn't even know what I was doing anymore. I was charging around the rooftops of the estate, just looking for anyone that looked like they deserved to get their arse handed to them. This was my estate! These were good people that lived here, and I wasn't going to let it fall back into the hands of thugs and criminals. There was a small voice somewhere that begged me to stop, that this was exactly what I'd been trying to avoid, more bloodshed and pain. And even though my arm ached from where the razor had cut me and I felt the familiar heat of blood pouring down my limbs, I was too invigorated, too excited to care.

  Then there was a darker, more guttural voice somewhere deep down that said they'd embarrassed me, they'd made me look weak and foolish in front of Marilyn, and now I was going to teach them a lesson. As I made my way to the west side of the Mulberry Estate, I saw a new group of goons. These ones were dressed all in black and looked like their gang uniform was more biker-inspired – a lot of leather jackets and bandannas. These weren't the Blood Brothers. They were one of the other gangs, I don't know which one, but they were certainly heavier than the others. There were six of them, and that gave me pause. Fighting them two at a time while they were scared was one thing, but fighting six of them basically barehanded was a fool's errand.

  But I couldn’t just slink away. The group had taken over one of the small swing parks on the west side of the Mulberry Estate, and they were casually selling drugs. Although I noticed they were on alert, like the Blood Brothers had been, they seemed very twitchy and nervous. But the trade over on this side of the estate was much better than on the east side. I saw drug addicts coming and going with semi-regularity. They were doing good business, and I was going to put a stop to that.

  This was so much more fulfilling than sewing holes in dirty jumpers and socks. I knew instinctively how I was going to approach this one. You see, they'd made the mistake of all bunching together, thinking that they had protection in numbers. Most predators would just pick off the weakest, but I wasn't here to do that. I was here to demolish the whole herd.

  As I crept down from the rooftop and down the fire escape into a dark alley, I searched around and found a discarded pole and a brick. I looked at them and then pulled a face. I supposed they would do. I hefted the brick and tucked it into the front pocket of my jumper, then picked up the pole, testing its weight. It wasn't my Grandad’s bat, but it could certainly do some damage.

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  I then fished around in my pocket and pulled out three Flash Coins. I licked my lips with quiet anticipation and watched the group. I wanted to attack when they weren't looking, and I got my chance when an addict approached them, making far too much noise, too excited to see his favourite drug dealers back on the estate. He was yelling something, and it got their attention. All six of them turned at the wrong moment, and I tore across the open space into the playground, leaping over the low wire fence. They heard my heavy boots. As they turned I activated my Jet Boots. I'd learned to control it somewhat, and this time I sent just enough energy into them to shoot me about six feet up. I hurled all three coins down at them; only two went off, but that was enough.

  I screwed my eyes shut, but even then, I could see the bloom of white light on the other side of my eyelids. The light was powerful enough to illuminate the veins in my eyelids. I heard them scream. I opened my eyes just in time to land two knees into the back of a little scrawny guy in a leather jacket and no shirt. I flattened him and heard bones cracking underneath the impact. I crushed him so badly he couldn’t even scream. Then I was on my feet. The goons were completely blinded. Even the junkie was rolling around on the floor holding his face. I went to work with the pole, smashing them across the backs of their heads, in their stomachs, their ribs, and their legs. I kicked one so hard in the kneecap, I'm sure I saw his leg bow backwards. Then I laid about him with the pole, hitting anything I could. They were still screaming, clawing at their eyes, even as I beat them to a bloody pulp.

  The whole thing had lasted maybe thirty seconds, and suddenly I had six human beings rendered bloody and useless at my feet. I breathed heavily, admiring my work. I grinned wickedly under my mask. But that was the problem with using a hollow metal pole, it didn't quite put people down like Grandad’s bat did. Suddenly, I felt a heavy blow across my spine. I gasped and staggered forward into a swing set. I turned just in time to see a baseball bat flying at me. I raised my arm and took a nasty blow across the shoulder and the forearm, and for a horrible second, I thought it had broken the bone in half. I fell sideways and scuttled under the swings, which gave me just enough space for my attacker to figure out what the hell had happened. One of them was back on their feet. I don't know how he'd recovered so quickly, but his eyes were bloodshot and wild. He snarled and came at me again, and as I looked behind him, I saw two more pulling themselves to their feet. They were battered and bloody but not beaten.

  Shit. I might have bitten off more than I can chew here. The adrenaline and excitement may have made me rash and overzealous.

  I dodged the second swing of the bat and lashed out with the pole. I don't know if my opponent was just slow or if the flashbang was still affecting his vision, but he didn't even see it coming. I cracked the pole across his forehead, splitting it open. His eyes crossed as he fell backwards into the swing set. But the other two were tearing across the playground, and I saw one of them had a short machete in his hand, and the other one a chain.

  I kept the swing set between us as I dodged around, wishing that I had more artillery than just a few coins and a pole. Then I remembered I had the brick. I fished around with my left hand, which felt numb from taking the blow from the baseball bat, but I managed to yank the brick out just as the two goons split and tried to circle me. The one with the chain whipped it at me. I lunged backwards, the chain became entangled with the swing set chain, and he stood there like an idiot trying to pull it loose, which gave me a chance to hurl the brick at him. I hit him square in the ear, and he grunted and fell sideways.

  Then, I almost had my throat opened by the machete; there was perhaps an inch in it. I felt the wind whistle past my throat. The goon wielding the blade snarled as it clanged off the metal swing set and swung wildly at me again. All I could do was backpedal, desperately trying to get away from him. He swung in a wild X shape: up and down, up and down, left and right, desperately trying to carve me open. It was all I could do to keep away from him. I jabbed him in the stomach with the pole, which created enough room, and then dodged around the jungle gym.

  I was breathing heavily now, pain radiating across my left side, and my arm was beginning to go numb. I shook it out and flexed my fingers, hoping nothing was broken. The machete-wielding goon snarled as he tried to get at me. I reached into my pocket and realized I was out of Flash Coins. I still had a couple of Shock coins; although they weren't particularly effective, especially not from a distance, but I was desperate for anything that might give me an advantage.

  I ran around the jungle gym, made it look like I was going to swing the pole at him, and he reacted by pulling his face backwards, trying to dodge the swing that never came. Instead, I pulled out a handful of coins, half of them falling to the floor in my haste, and I slapped them into his bare chest. The Shock Runes activated, and he screamed, falling backwards. But there was no shirt this time for them to become tangled in, and the coins just fell uselessly to the floor. But they'd done their job. I swung the pole hard and caught him in the wrist that was holding the machete. The blade flew, and he screamed out in pain. Three more heavy blows later, he was laying still on the bitumen playground floor.

  I panted, feeling like I was going to be sick from the exertion. I looked around, and a few of the goons were moving, but none of them looked like they were up for a fight anymore, which was good, because neither was I. I quickly ran over to the wild-eyed baseball swinger who'd been serving the addicts, rifled through his pockets, took the money he had, and then grabbed the rucksack full of drugs on my way. I snatched it up, threw it on my back, and ran as fast as I could out of the playground and into the darkness.