The Dawn
As the first rays of sunlight filtered through his window, illuminating the room with a soft golden glow. Sawyer stirred from his troubled sleep. With a tired groan, he rubbed his eyes groggily, the remnants of sleep clinging stubbornly to his senses. As his vision adjusted to the light, his gaze instinctively gravitated towards the materialized blue screen before him, it's blue glow assisting the sun by irradiating the room.
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SYSTEM MENU
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[Name: Sawyer Knight]
[Rank: Novice (Levels up as you progress)
[Progression Milestones]
Rookie Rides: Complete 5 group rides 0/5
Trusted Companion: Earn the trust of 5 club members 0/5
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[New Progress]
Rookie Rides: Complete 5 group rides 0/5
Trusted Companion: Earn the trust of 5 club members 2/5
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[Reputation]
Club Respect: 5/100
Local recognition: 3/100
Statewide Influence: 0/100
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[New Progress]
Club Respect: 15/100
Local Recognition: 10/100
Statewide Influence: 0/100
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…
Sawyer's eyes widened as he stared at the screen. 'I made progress in my milestones…? And even got recognition…?' he thought to himself, a fleeting smirk crossing his face before his expression returned to its usual somber state. The unexpected validation felt surreal, almost disconnected from the chaotic reality of the previous night.
As the screen in front of him faded to black, Sawyer heaved a sigh and rose from his bed, moving mechanically through his mundane morning routine. The familiar sounds of the apartment—water running, coffee brewing—did little to soothe the tension gnawing at his nerves. Today was Monday, which meant facing the relentless grind of school.
The thought of crossing paths with Ethan made his stomach churn. The previous night's violence hung over him like a dark cloud, and the prospect of Ethan seeking revenge for what happened to his friend filled Sawyer with dread. He could almost feel the tension coiling in his chest, each step towards school a march into uncertainty.
He splashed cold water on his face, hoping to wash away the fatigue and anxiety, but the reflection staring back at him in the bathroom mirror was a reminder of last night. Shaking his head, he tried to focus on the here and now, the small tasks that anchored him to a semblance of normalcy.
Sawyer threw in some grey sweatpants, a black hoodie, and black low-cut shoes that revealed his black socks. Opting to leave his bike behind, he walked to school, his thoughts heavy and tumultuous. The entrance of the school felt as unfamiliar as a distant memory, the past few days stretching into what seemed like months, disturbing his sense of reality.
As he approached the school, he noticed Ethan's friend—the one who had been cut in the armpit— struggling to bend his arm, emitting low, pained grunts.
Ethan's eyes locked onto Sawyer with a predatory intensity. Without a warning, he grabbed Sawyer by the neck and slammed him against the brick wall that flanked the school entrance. "You little bastard, you think you can get away with what your friend did!" Ethan snarled. His voice was a mix of rage and a poorly concealed fear of Ezekiel.
Ethan's punch landed squarely in Sawyer's gut, the impact doubling him over and sending him to the ground. Immediately, Ethan's two goons joined in, their kicks raining die on Sawyer. Each blow seemed to echo through his body, the pain meddling with the emotional turmoil that had been building since the previous night.
"You dumbass, now my arm hurts!" Shouted the teen who had been cut, his voice filled with anger and frustration. "He had to go to the doctor to make sure the knife didn't carry any diseases. You're going to pay for his doctor bill, little bitch!" Yelled the other goon, his words dropping with malice.
The two continued to pummel Sawyer, each blow more viscous than the last, as a crowd began to form around them. The onlookers whispered and watched in morbid curiosity, some too afraid to intervene, others too entertained to care.
An older teacher, Mr. Hargrove, spotted the commotion from across the courtyard. He moved as quickly as his aging body allowed, his legs creaking with each hurried step, his dentures clattering dangerously with every breath. "…Hey… break it up…" he wheezed, his voice quivering with both effort and age. As he reached the scene, he tugged at the larger boys with surprising strength, prying them off Sawyer one by one.
Sawyer lay curled in the fetal position, his clothes now stained cans marked with dirt and the imprints of their shoes. His face, which had been turned upward, bore the brunt of the assault, red and swollen with shoe prints etched into his skin. Mr. Hargrove knelt beside him, his breath coming in short, labored gasps. "Alright, son, let's get you up…" he said gently, his hands trembling slightly as he helped Sawyer to his feet. The crowd slowly dispersed, murmuring among themselves, their interest already waning.
Me. Hargrove helped Sawyer to his feet, his grip firm but gentle. Sawyer stood shakily, his body aching from the attack, and his mind spinning. The pain was intense, but it was the humiliation that stung the most.
"We'll get you later", Ethan retorted ferociously, his voice dripping with menace. The threat hunt in the air as the three goons walked off, their laughter echoing ominously in the air. Mr. Hargrove looked at Sawyer with concern etched into his weathered face. "You okay, Sawyer?" He asked, his voice a mixture of worry and fatigue.
Sawyer forced a smile, his eyes closed as he tried to mask the pain. "…Yes, thanks again, Mr. Hargrove," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. The old teacher sighed lightly, a sound filled with inevitability, he patted Sawyer's shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort, before turning to walk back to the entrance.
As Mr. Hargrove made his way back, he moved with slowly, one hand pressed against his lower back as if to soothe an old ache.
Sawyer trudged to his first-period class after a hasty attempt to clean himself up, his mind clearly adrift. The classroom's familiar surroundings did little to anchor his thoughts. 'I can't keep letting this happen… I was given a system to not only help me with my outside activities but to give me enough leverage to be able to fight back,' Sawyer pondered.
As he sat down, the reality of his desperate situation gnawed at him. 'Ezekiel can't help save me from this demon… I need to do it myself!' He said, steeling himself.
Just like that, the first and second periods went by in a blink. Sawyer moved through the school halls like a ghost, his mind elsewhere. The three goons, however, were relentless. They found Sawyer heading up to the roof, the same passage they had followed him through last time. Their footsteps echoed in the narrow stairwell. When they finally reached the top, they found Sawyer standing near the parapet, his gaze fixed on the sprawling cityscape of Los Angeles in the distance.
"You guys have bullied me since the start of freshman year. We are now seniors, approaching the last few months of school… matter of fact, I can't even recall a day other than the weekends y'all didn't bully me," Sawyer began, his voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions brewing inside him. "I never fought back, afraid of the retaliation you guys would bring. But no longer am I afraid of y'all, because for a while I thought y'all were practically invincible. That is, until your friend was cut by a man much shorter than y'all. I saw the fear in your eyes, and you have every right to be afraid. He is a dangerous man…"
"I won't ever be able to accomplish my goals if I can't even get past y'all," Sawyer declared. "So today is the day the bullying ends. I'll carve my name in the annals of this school's history as the boy who beat up the thugs on campus."
His attitude and composure were markedly different from before, a transformation that even the bullies could sense. Yet, their pride wouldn't allow them to back down.
"You think because you said some grand speech, for only us to hear, your future will change?!" Ethan sneered, his voice dripping with derision. The last part made him chuckle slightly, the thought amusing him despite the tension.
"You'll never stop being a bug beneath the sole of our shoes," Ethan roared, his voice dripping with rage as he stood across from Sawyer. "Easily crushable at any time, you'll forever be the timid mouse of this school."
Sawyer's eyes narrowed. "I thought you would say that…." He reached into his backpack, pulling out the knife that Ezekiel had given him and that he had never returned. Earlier that morning, before school, he had placed it there, anticipating this confrontation.
"I'm prepared to make this end today…." Sawyer declared. Ethan's face twisted with fury as he rushed towards Sawyer, his goons closely behind. With a swift motion, Sawyer dropped his backpack, pulling the knife out completely. Time seemed to slow around him, his nerves kept in check by the 'steel nerves' ability, allowing him to make rational judgements against the rushing chaos.
Ethan lunged, his right arm drawn back for a powerful jab aimed at Sawyer's face. Sawyer sidestepped the attack, moving fluidly. As Ethan's first cut through the air where Sawyer's head had been, Sawyer saw his opening. He ducked under the wild swing, and with a quick thrust, drove the knife into Ethan's foot, echoing the move he had used on the half-dead man before. The blade sank deep, pinning Ethan in place, and eliciting a startlingly scream from him.
"AAAAAHHHHH!!" Ethan shouted in agonizing pain. His scream echoed across the rooftop. The goon on the left, still reeling from Ezekiel's previous attack, forced himself to engage, his left hand swinging in a slow, weak hook. Sawyer, with his lithe frame and heightened reflexes, blocked the attack with both arms.
Before the assailant had another chance to strike, Sawyer ducked under his right armpit, fluidly slipping past his guard. With precision and speed, Sawyer delivered a flurry of strikes directly to the goon's wound, his fists landing like a barrage of hammers.
"GRRRAAAHHH!!!" The goon's scream of pain grew louder, nearly deafening, as Sawyer's relentless blows found their mark. The attacker crumpled, clutching his wound, his eyes wide with agony.
Sawyer's focus immediately shifted to the last goon, who was rushing towards him. Unlike the others, this one favored his feet, his stance betraying his intent. He launched a kick at Sawyer's leg with his left foot, quickly following with a swift jab aimed at his face. The kick connected, sending a jolt of pain up Sawyer's leg, but he held his ground.
As the jab moved toward him, time seemed to slow once more. Sawyer could see the trajectory of the attack, each millisecond stretching into an eternity. His mind, clear and focused, guided his body with precise movements. He sidestepped to the right of the jab, the punch missing him by a hair's breadth.
With the opening now clear, Sawyer pivoted, channeling all his strength into a single, decisive punch aimed at the attacker's face. Time suddenly snapped back to its normal pace as his fist made contact, the force of the blow sending the goon reeling backward. The attacker's head snapped back, and for a moment, he seemed to hang in the air, suspended by the sheer impact.
The goon's body crashed to the ground, his face contorted in pain and surprise. He lay there, dazed, the sunlight blinding him as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened.
Sawyer's punch sent the last goon crashing to the ground, but there was no time to relish his small victory. As the goon tried to recover, Sawyer replied with a blur of strikes.
"Bastard!!!" Ethan roared, charging at Sawyer with the ferocity of a wild animal. He tackled Sawyer, the impact sending them both to the ground. Ethan, driven by rage and desperation, quickly positioned himself on top of Sawyer, releasing an unrelenting volley of punches.
Each punch from Ethan landed with the force of a steel pipe, the pain radiating through Sawyer's body with each brutal impact. His vision blurred, the edges of his vision dimming under the assault.
Sawyer's mind frantically raced as he tried to maintain his composure and consciousness under the assault. He used his elbows, pushing them against Ethan's thighs, creating just enough space to maneuver. Drawing every ounce of strength he had left, he planted his feet firmly on the ground at an arc, using them to push off and shift his hips to the side. With a swift movement, he slid out from beneath Ethan, escaping the mounted position.
Sawyer recovered his fighting stance, steadying himself on both legs. The adrenaline coursing through his veins sharpened his focus. "Come on, little bitch!" Ethan shouted, his tone dripping with derision as he tried to provoke him.
Sawyer locked eyes with Ethan and, without hesitation, charged straight at him. 'This dummy,' Ethan thought, smirking inwardly as he watched Sawyer's seemingly reckless approach. He readied himself, muscles coiled like a spring, for the final blow—a vicious right hook aimed to end the fight. As Ethan swung, Sawyer executed a perfect drop, evading the hook and sweeping Ethan's legs out from under him, using his own weight and momentum against him.
Ethan's eyes widened in shock as he crashed to the ground. In a seamless motion, Sawyer mounted him, his pent-up rage boiling over. He unleashed a barrage of punches, each strike fueled by years of suppressed anger and hatred. Every hit was a cathartic release, a repudiation of the torment he had endured at the hands of Ethan and his goons.
Sawyer's vision blurred with fury, the world narrowing to the rhythmic cadence of his fists connecting with Ethan's face. The rooftop echoed with the dull thuds of flesh meeting flesh. Time seemed to stand still, the present moment expanding until there was nothing but the raw, unbridled release of his pent-up emotions. When Sawyer finally regained his senses, he found himself staring down at Ethan's swollen, bloodied face.
Though the damage Ethan inflicted would have once seemed insurmountable, it now paled in comparison to the ordeal Sawyer had inflicted the previous day. Steeling himself, Sawyer turned to the one goon who was too injured to move. "And don't tell anyone!" he exclaimed, his voice commanding. The goon, cradling his armpit wound, could only nod weakly in response.
With his face bruised but his spirit unbroken, Sawyer descended the steps from the roof, feeling like a new person. The oppressors who had kept him shackled in fear were now left battered and defeated. Each step down the staircase was a step away from his past and towards a new. He couldn't help but attribute this victory to Ezekiel, the catalyst who had instilled this courage within him.