Amson, 18, "Face-to-Face"

"What did you--" I stammered, stunned. "How the fuck do you know my name?"

He looked at me like I was a fucking idiot, laughing at me with that shit eating grin. How the fuck did he know my name, and not only that, he knew that goddamn nickname. Hearing it brought an anger from within me that I hadn't felt since that night.

Yet he sat against that tree as if we were just chatting, almost friendly in a way. That pissed me off even more, and I felt my surprised expression fade, looking directly into his eyes with a fierceness. 

"You can't tell me you don't know." He laughed, so sure of himself. "There's just no way... right? The deadshot lady-killer with a mysterious past, hanging around some of the biggest names at Butcher Cross... Some'd call it silly to imply you don't know, and by some, I mean me."

He inspected my expression, only furthering his joking attitude towards me. That smile turned to a smirk, a demeaning, teasing tone coming from him.

"Oh, don't gimme that look..." He brushed me off. "You're a household name! Grant you, I didn't know what the all the fuss was about until I saw this, then I just had to pay you some attention."

He opened his laptop, the screen shining into both of our faces as we sat within the shadow of that grand oak. He smiled, all the while typing away at that silent keyboard, pulling up a video of some sort. 

"I just don't care to humor you..." I heard my own voice from that laptop. "I apologized, so leave me alone, man."

My face sank whilst caving, knowing immediately what I was watching, but not willing to accept the reality. I could've never imagined I could even make such an expression. That man behind the screen wasn't me; he wasn't. 

"What're you gonna do, bitch?" The bigger guy said to me, as egotistical as I remembered. "Huh?!"

However, finally viewing from the outside made me see it... the other side of that same, ugly coin. 

"Turn it off..." I said, my eyes still locked to the screen. 

"Just watch." Fuckbelt insisted. "Shit like this fires me up!"

The next seconds of the video were a blur, the movement too fast to necessarily perceive with the poor quality of the video, but knowing the moves of the man on that screen, it was as easy enough to infer as it was to discern.

The bigger guy threw one straight punch, but I dodged outside it, covering the guy's face with my left hand while I charged my right. The swing was powerful and loud, the impact felt by the swift and explosive reaction of the crowd, and like a sack, the bitch fell, landing flat on his face. 

The surrounding crowd howled as I squatted atop his back, grabbing his hair and swinging his head around like I was simulating an airplane. All the while, my opponent was still unconscious, out cold from that one punch. 

The crowd laughed as I toyed with him, but sitting there and watching it unfold, I was disgusted with myself, yet without the strength to stop it. 

The truth was that I needed to see it, but I felt, still, I could never accept that tyrannical arrogance, especially in the way I knew I fought. I fought to humiliate, to crush: that made it all the more hypocritical that I'd think to sit down and speak to this guy about Nicky. 

Maybe it was God's way of shoving me back to reality.

"Wsshhhhhh...." I imitated the airplane before rubbing his face along the dirty, hallway floor, smearing every speck of dust into his skin. 

Eventually, he groaned himself back to the land of the living, yelling at me whilst fumbling like a fool. 

"G-Get the fuck offa me!" He screamed, huffing and puffing. 

As he asked, I stood, my hand still gripped firmly to his hair. He screamed in agony as I painfully yanked him to his feet from behind, using his hair alone. Once we were both standing, I shoved him forward, nearly sending him right back to the floor. 

"You fucking bitch!" He swiftly turned around, swinging mindlessly at me. 

Predictably, I dodged effortlessly, my hands huddled into my jacket pockets. For good measure, I smacked him a few times with those padded pockets, watching as his anger only grew and grew, but the smile on my face was even greater in sheer volume. 

"Y'know..." I started, mid dodge. "If you didn't scream like a bitch every time you swung, my might've hit me a few times."

"You shut your fucking mouth!" He hollered once more.

I saw the expression along my face shift as I pranced around his powerful swing, landing a straight punch to the side of his face.

It was like a man possessed.

My opponent rose to his feet much faster this time, but I was already there, standing over him. 

"Don't you ever let me hear you mouth off to me, again." I said, backhanding him across the face. "I'm done playing nice around you drug-laced junkies who'll never know better."

As he rose to his feet again, I slapped him across the face, leaving a visible imprint on his cheek. He winced in pain, holding his face in desperation.

"It's about time you learned..." I grinned from ear to ear. "I will learn you some manners, pussy." 

One after another, fist after fist landed clean around his body, breaking him down by the second in the most brutal yet concise manner possible. As he continued to struggle, I saw as I relished in my authority over him, and after each blow connected, I grew more and more satisfied with myself, as if I were painting or sculpting. 

It was evident, the extent of my derangement...

Finally, my opponent fell, squirming in pain, but before the video cut off, I was seen spitting on my victim, smearing it along his face and speaking into his ear. 

"Doesn't feel good, does it?" I said, pulling his limp face toward my mouth. "Don't you just pity yourself, even a bit?" 

Finally, I threw his face to the ground, still crouched over his form.

"Now, leave me the fuck alone, understand?"