Chapter 9: VIII. KHALIL IBORI

“There’s too much on our plate and we’re too full to fucking eat any of it.” 

That’s how my brother Tyrel would describe our current situation. God do I miss him. And God do I need him, now more than ever. He was naturally skilled at leading a gang, I’m just playing the part. As to how well I’m playing the part, I don’t know, but we’re still alive, a lot more than most people can ask for. We’ve also made major progress in getting money for that cure. A thousand pounds, one fifth of the way there. That at least leaves with a bit of hope. We have to get that cure, I don’t know what I’m going to do if we don’t. 

But staying alive is not a given. Cameron has unfortunately put us back on Declan’s radar. That psycho is probably conjuring up a million ways to kill me right about now. And I know he won’t just go for a simple bullet to the head. No. That’s too boring for him. If ever he gets his hands on me, he’ll slowly drip feed me pain, tormenting me both physically and psychologically and only kill me when he’s finally bored of it all. But who knows.

Then there’s the issue of Ryan McKeown. A more controlled madness to deal with than Declan, but with twice as many fighters at his disposal. He’s convinced that Devon Manufacturers caused the mist. I find it hard to admit, but I sort of see where he’s coming from. I wouldn’t go around dismantling already crumbling buildings and killing off one-percent-ers, but I would certainly be angry at the Devons. I hope it’s not true for Lysandra’s sake. 

Lysandra. Beautiful name, for a beautiful girl. She’s been through a lot, too much even. I’m trying my best to integrate her into the group. To make her feel safe. Isabelle is not exactly helping on that front, but I will admit she has her reasons, however callous they may be. I don’t care though. When I saw her in the window of the manor, all on her own, cowering in fear as crowds of those mist-affected animals attempted to break down her house, I couldn’t leave her there. I had to help. I’m not sacrificing my principles just because the world is too fucked to care about them anymore. 

And speaking of new members of the group. There’s Michael. I’d be lying if I said I trusted him for a second. He’s shifty, very shifty. And too eager to hurt. He always has a stupidly malicious smirk on his face. As if all his life he was just waiting for a time where he could maim and kill indiscriminately and is delighted that it has finally come. It’s like having a Declan on our side and I know how that ends.  I saw Grace go into his room the other night. Knowing Grace I know exactly where this is going. Those two would make a perfect match and that’s the problem: They’ll be the death of each other. I’ll have to keep an eye out for them. This Michael is quite useful however. Lots of weapons and techniques passed down to him from his mother. Strange, I know. And whatever money he has wouldn’t hurt in terms of going towards our goal. All in all despite all that’s on our plate, we should aim to move forward successfully. Everything should work out fine, as long as I keep the ship steady. But that’s the problem. If there’s one thing you cannot count on nowadays, it’s keeping things steady. 

“Khalil!” calls Grace, snapping me out of deep thought. 

I return to reality, adjusting myself at Michael’s table to see the others looking towards me, as if they are waiting for my approval on something. 

“Sorry, I was just…thinking.” I explain. “What were we talking about?”

Grace shakes her head and laughs at me, playfully pushing my shoulder.  At least she’s been in a good mood, recently. One less thing for me to worry about. 

“Michael and I were talking about a plan to get a lot more money.” 

“What is it?” I ask, as I wearily look towards Michael. He’s got that malicious smirk I was talking about, plastered right across his slim pale face. Whatever is about to come out of that mouth, I know I’m not going to like it. 

He stands up from his chair and raises his hands in the air like he’s about to give a speech. 

“We enter ourselves into The Badlands,” he proposes. 

I stare at Michael with a mixture of confusion and contempt. He slowly nods his head as he makes strict and straight eye contact with me. I look towards Isabelle who shares my reaction, then back towards Grace who shares Michael’s nodding grin. 

“Are you two fucking serious?” I question. “What is your obsession with these fight-to-the-death tournaments?”

“What is your obsession with turning down ideas for money?” asks Grace. 

“Are you trying to get a symmetrical facial injury?” mocks Isabelle as she points towards Grace’s injured left eye.

“It’ll be fine this time.” Grace says, rolling her eyes at her. 

“Oh , like it was last time?” chimes in Lysandra. “Cameron and I almost died in our fights and then the three of us almost died after Grace stole from the officiators!”

“That is true.” adds Cameron.  Looks like Grace conveniently forgot to tell me the full story about what happened at the arenas. I look over to her with a piercing glare. She avoids my gaze entirely. 

“Fucking snitches.” grunts Grace. Michael slams his palm on the table, gathering everyone’s attention. 

“Two-thousand fucking pounds.” he continues. “The Badlands Trio are willing to give two thousand pounds to whoever is able to not only complete but best him in every single one of his challenges.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Isabelle retorts. “Who in their right mind would risk losing all of that money?”

“Fine, yes, they’re fucking nutters.” accepts Michael. “But what did you expect? Do you think a sane person would create the Badlands in the first place?”

He has a point. ‘Two-Thousand Fucking Pounds’.

I run my hand through my hair as I contemplate. I’ve heard stories about The Badlands, none of them being encouraging. It’s a place of organised chaos. In a way it’s even worse than the normal land, instead of risking being killed randomly you sign yourself up to what will likely be your last ever act. On the other hand, two-thousand pounds would be nothing short of a Godsend. But that’s only if we win. 

“We’ll have to think about it.” I assure Michael. He does not seem satisfied with this answer, slumping back into his chair as he scoffs at us. Someone’s eager to die in the Badlands. Grace shares his sentiments, rolling her eyes at me as if I’m being unreasonable. You see? Only a couple of days together and they’re already a bad influence on eachother. 

“For now, let’s talk about plans that won’t get us killed.” I snark.

 Michael doesn’t seem amused. He opens his mouth to interject, but before he can his attention is grasped by a large explosion outside. Wonder what that is? Probably just another thing to add to my plate.  We look out the window to see another Dubois firework has been set off. This time it’s multiple at once, each louder and more explosive than the last. What the hell does he want this time?

I drive the group towards the location of the fireworks, the same place as last time. Dubois’ clearly a creature of habit. The crowd quickly gathers, also in the same spot as they were in last time.

“What’s the news for today?” Michael quips. 

“Something tells me we’re not going to like it.” mutters Cameron. Something tells me he’s entirely correct. 

We look towards the area in which the crowd congregates. This time however, Dubois’ van is parked far off to the side, almost perching down towards a hill. Instead, in front of the crowd is a poorly constructed wooden stage  upon which is a platform with a noose. Standing on the stage is Dubois. He taps his feet impatiently, a disgruntled scowl on his face. Surrounding the stage are his bodyguards, but a few seem to be missing. A group of bodyguards walk up from the back of the stage, carrying a frail man who is frightened for his life. The man kicks and screams in an attempt to break free but is unsuccessful. The guards throw the man towards Dubois who grabs him by the collar. The bustling crowd immediately quietens down as they stare on in intrigue. Dubois shakes the frail man, lifting him up for all the people to see. 

“I’m sorry to bother you all.” starts Dubois. “But it seems I have to make something clear.”

Dubois violently throws the man onto the floor of the stage. The man tries to get up but Dubois stops him by stepping on his face, crushing him with his weathered designer boot. 

“When I informed you all about the cure, I told you there was one way to get the cure. Pay. Me.” asserts Dubois. 

“ Not to have the gall to enter my base without the five thousand pounds I asked for. Not, attempt to steal from me. Not to do anything else other than fucking pay me. Is this not true, young man?” 

The man's anxiety-ridden face darts a concerned glance at Dubois as he continues to crush his head underneath his boot. 

“Now I have the displeasure of showing everyone what happens when you disobey me.”

Dubois removes his boot from the cheek of the whimpering man's face. He grabs him by the collar and drags him to the noose. The man resumes his campaign of kicking, screaming and crying, realising his fate. Dubois ignores his pleas and hands him over to his bodyguards who stand by the noose. One restrains his hands, one restrains his feet, one places his head in the noose and the last guard waits by the pulling rope. The man’s head is placed firmly in the hole of the noose. Once ready, Dubois gives his guard the go ahead. The guard violently yanks the pulling rope, choking the man. 

We all watch on as the man writhes for freedom and struggles for air. Hanging is such an awful way to kill someone. I’d rather have a knife to the gut or a bullet to the head. Especially over this particular death. It’s taking a long time for him to go, probably because of how shoddy the equipment is. But something tells me that was Dubois’ intention. 

Before the man can even gasp for his final breath, Dubois unsheathes a knife and sinks it between his eyebrows with so much force and brutality that the entire blade cannot be seen from the outside of his bleeding face. The crowd looks on in a silent shock. Killing a man these days is not the taboo it used to be, but making a spectacle out of it is a different story.  I wouldn’t have put it past Dubois to make such a needlessly grim exhibition, but I can’t say I expected this either. He’s made his message clear.

Dubois’ men come onto the stage and wipe his hands clean of blood using a towel. He then turns to address the crowd once more.
“Because of this recent event it has come to my attention that you people cannot be trusted to abide by me alone.” continues Dubois. “This is why I have decided to double the amount of enforcers at my disposal.”

Dubois gestures towards the back of the stage, where a group of more bodyguards follow him. We are introduced to a score of new faces, armed to the teeth with the highest grade weaponry. One of the faces looks familiar however. Wait a second…is…is that?…No fucking way! It can’t be!  I move closer towards the crowd of people to get a closer look. 

“Where are you going?” asks a concerned Lysandra as she rushes after me.

 The others follow my lead until I’m close enough to make out the face of the man I recognised:

It’s Declan O’-Fucking Gallagher. 

If looks could kill then my glare alone would have struck him down where he stands. As Declan climbs up on stage he immediately catches my eye. Almost as if he wanted to catch me in the crowd first thing. He flashes an ear to ear grin. 

“As of now, I can officially say…let the games begin.” finishes Dubois as he dismisses the gathering. The crowd of people start to disperse once more. 

Declan climbs down the stage and starts to approach me. That conniving cunt. He knows I can’t kill him if he’s working for Dubois. The whole land will turn against us. And even if they didn’t, his group  now has the weaponry to tank a whole city. Dealing with the six of us will be no problem to him. Just when I thought things were getting less complicated. 

Accompanied by his new comrades Declan stops mere centimetres in front of me. I grit my teeth, strongly holding back the urge to wring his neck and plunge my thumb through his eyes. He looks me up and down with a childish grin, revelling in how powerless I am. 

“Hello Khalil.” sneers Declan. His ugly mangled smile is enough to send a pulsing rage through every inch of my body. But I can’t let him get to me. I need to take a deep breath and calm down. 

Declan’s smile slowly droops off of his face. He replaces it with a cold dead stare. Before I can even react he quickly swings the butt of his rifle, cracking me across the face with it. 

I hear the cries of outrage from the group as I crash to the floor. My vision blurs for a short while as I pick my feet off of the floor. I vaguely make out Cameron and Grace struggling to hold Michael back as he tries to pick a fight with Declan and the other guards. They eventually convince him to back down. Thank God. I appreciate him trying to prove himself to us, but it's no good if the people of the land gun us down right here and right now.

“Pathetic.” Declan chuckles.

My vision clears in time to see Declan’s foot swinging towards me. His sturdy new boots - courtesy of Dubois like his guns - smashes through my face, causing me to spit up more blood. 

The others can only watch on in disgust as Declan kicks me repeatedly with great force, as if he’s trying to carve a hole through my stomach. The sounds of Declan’s insane laughter intertwines with Lysandra’s cries of concern. I hate that she has to see me like this. 

The copper taste of blood fills my mouth as I keel over, clutching my stomach in deep pain. Soon enough, Declan’s laughter starts to die down and thankfully, so do his beatings. He crouches down next to me as I reel in pain on the floor. 

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you.” he whispers. “Soon you’ll join that murdering piece of shit brother of yours.”

Declan wipes some blood off of the corner of my mouth. He licks it, then spits it back at me, hitting my eye. 

With a final mocking laugh Declan leaves with his newfound comrades. The others look towards me as I remain crunched up on the floor, trying my hardest to stifle any whimpers. It’s no use. They can tell I’m barely keeping it together. I hate that any of them have to see me like this. I hate it. 

I close my eyes and allow for the pain to simply wash over me. But it doesn’t work. It makes it worse, even. For some reason…it evokes an even greater anger inside of me. Too many questions are coming to the surface of my mind at once. 

Why can’t Declan just die already? How am I supposed to protect any of them now that Dubois’ on his side? What the fuck would Tyrel do? Why couldn’t he survive? Why couldn’t he be here with me now? Why couldn’t Declan leave him to rest? Why can’t Declan leave us? All of these questions bubble up inside me until they reach a tipping point in which I can’t contain myself. I can’t keep the lid on any longer.

I begin to lash out - violent, unhinged and  pounding my fists against the ground as I scream out in agonising anger. It’s been a while since I’ve fully let out a rage filled scream and thrash. I think it’s good. It lets out a lot of pent up anger. All the emotions that have been stewing inside me since the mist started. This was something I needed to release sooner rather than later. 

“Um…are you alright?” asks Grace in a concerned tone as she tries to pick me up off of the floor. I reject her assistance,  getting up by myself. I look at the faces of the rest of the group, all a mixture of different shades of sympathy and shame. I ignore the rest of them and look to Michael. 

“You’ve been around the land a lot haven’t you?” I ask him. 

“Sure,” says Michael. 

“I need you to tell me everything you know about a certain someone.” I tell him. “And I need you to tell me and only me.”

I take a few steps away from the rest of the group and gesture at Michael to follow. He furrows his eyebrows at me. The others look towards me, as if I’m being strange. Perhaps I am, but that’s the least of my concerns. Michael slowly saunters his way over to me. I spend the next few moments whispering information into Michael’s ear. He spends those moments whispering back. The next two minutes are spent continuously doing this as the rest of the group stares at us, confused and silent. 

“Are you sure he will?” I ask. 

“He should.” insists Michael. I nod my head, satisfied with what I now know. 

The others continue to look at me, as if they were waiting for me to address my outburst. I won’t.  Without saying a single word, I move past them and walk towards the car and enter the driving seat. Some things are better left not talked about. 

The car ride away from Dubois’ meeting place can only be described as a stretched out awkward silence. Good. I’m in no mood to talk to anyone. I can just focus on the road. Focus on where we’re going. Where we need to go. 

Sitting in the passenger's seat, Isabelle looks towards the road ahead of us in confusion, she then looks at me. 

“Where are we going?” she questions. 

I don’t answer her, my gaze still fixed on the road ahead. They’ll find out eventually. 

I reach over to open the glove compartment and retrieve a crumpled up piece of paper. 

“I need you to help me with this.” I say as I hold the piece of paper out. 

Isabelle, Grace and Cameron all attempt to reach for the paper, but I draw it back just in time. 

“Actually, I was talking to Michael.” I explain. 

I look through the front mirror to see their faces all coloured with confusion. Michael, who had previously been absent-mindedly staring out of the window, ears perk up. He excitedly grabs the piece of paper out of my hand. He opens it up, reads over it. He snickers like a sociopathic child, then crumbles the page up and shoves it back into his pocket. 

“Are you serious about all this?” asks Michael. 

“Is that information you gave about him accurate? He’ll definitely accept?”

“Yes.” says Michael, sure as ever. 

“Then I’m deadly serious.” I assure him, clenching my jaw as I take in a deep breath through my nose. 

“Didn’t think you were about that life, Khalil.” he snarks. 

“Just make yourself useful.” I assert. 

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” asks a frustrated Grace.

Michael puts his finger up to his mouth and makes a shushing motion. Grace blows a raspberry at him to which he scoffs at. Cameron and Lysandra sit in between the two exchanging childish gestures.

“Seriously Khalil, where are we going?” reiterates Isabelle. 

I refuse to answer her again. Like I said, they’ll find out eventually. I arrive at and park up next to our old house. The very same one where Ryan McKeown had threatened us. Everyone apart from Michael looks to me as if I’ve taken them towards the gates of hell. 

“Hey, hey, what are you doing? Why are we here?” Cameron panics. 

“We have unfinished business here.” I tell him as I leave the car and walk out. I’m in desperate need of some fresh air. 

Lysandra climbs over Cameron and pushes the door open to the car. She almost falls over herself in an attempt to follow me. She walks up to me and grips my shoulder, a feared doe look in her bright blue eyes. 

“Khalil, we can’t be here, we really can’t fucking be here.” she insists. “Ryan McKeown, the thing with my Dad-, he-, he. They’ll tear me apart!”

“That’s exactly why we’re here.” I tell her. “I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Isabelle bursts out of the car, shaking her head in defiance. Here we go. The others follow her until they’re all in a group huddle, opposing me. Aside from Michael, who stands there, seemingly entertained by it all. 

Isbaelle opens her mouth, preparing to go on her usual tirade against me, but she stops. Instead of scolding me, she pinches the base of her nose and sighs. She looks up towards me, her dark eyes slightly squinting in a way a disappointed parent would look at their fuck-up kid. 

“Why?” She asks. “Just why?”

“Look who's got a death wish now?” scorns Grace. 

“This isn’t a death wish. If anything this will save us.” 

“How?” questions Cameron, struggling to keep himself calm. “Fucking how!”

That’s how you know you need to properly explain yourself, when even Cameron’s challenging you. Might as well tell them. I let out a frustrated sigh, turn around, and properly face the group. 

“For a decent chunk of time, we’ve had both Declan O'Gallagher and Ryan McKeown’s gangs on our backs. We’ve been able to take the risk and avoid them, however we no longer have this privilege.” I spell out to them. “Now that he has Dubois’ backing, Declan is untouchable and unstoppable and we cannot risk having both on our necks. So the only thing to do is get rid of McKeown.”

The group takes a few seconds to process, thinking over what I said. Hopefully they’ll come around. 

“I can somewhat get behind that logic.” accepts Isabelle. “Doesn’t change how fucking stupid you’re being right now. What, we’re just going to casually deal with them? Just the six of us?”

“If what Michael told me about Ryan is true, then yes, we should.” 

The rest look over to Michael who greets them with a cocky upwards nod. 

“I’m supposed to put my trust in him?” laments Isabelle. 

“I don’t know about all this.” worries Lysandra, a large lump in her throat. 

“Best we can do.” I finish, shrugging my shoulders.

I walk back to the car with a purposeful stride. The rest follow me, reluctantly ready for our next dangerous journey. They don’t need to be sure about all of this, they just need to follow my lead so I can protect them. The only one who seems willing to follow is Michael who even seems too giddy. 

“Let’s ruin those hippy fucks.” grunts Michael excitedly. Charming. 

An hour or so later, I find myself wandering through a bright, fruitful, yet somehow creepy part of the land. In the distance I see a group of freedom fighters wandering around a large home. Sat on the front porch, being waited on hand and foot is Ryan McKeown himself. Look at him, having his ‘people’ treat him like some sort of king. 

“The true mark of a visionary leader.” I mutter to myself sarcastically.

As soon as I’m within a short distance from the house, Ryan’s people post up. Within seconds every single one of them has a bow and arrow, throwing knife or a spear aimed in my direction and ready to launch through my skull. Ryan on the other hand is calm and measured, not moving a single inch as I approach the house. He lays his eyes on me, as if to try and visually assess me from afar. Both his eyes are as cold and grey as stone, but one has a glimmer of blue in it. I try not to let his stare intimidate me and I press forward. 

“State your reason.” says Ryan, adjusting himself in his chair. 

“My reason?” I ask. 

“Yes, your reason.” insists Ryan. “Your reason for coming here after not only denying my proposal, but for attacking my people.”

Ryan gestures at the cult-following that surrounds him. Some of them nod. Some tighten their grips on their weapons. I have to tread carefully here. They all look eager to dispatch me, and all Ryan would have to do is say the word. Just stick to the plan. 

“The attack on your men wasn’t my doing.” I assure Ryan. “And I have a new proposal.”

Ryan stands up from his chair. He crosses his hairy muscular arms and looks down towards me. 

“And what is it?” he asks. 

I turn towards a large forest of flora and fauna to the left of me. I gesture at the others to come out. Soon, Cameron, Isabelle, Grace and Lysandra are all walking out of the forest and standing behind me. They all look to be uncomfortable and unsure, especially Lysandra. I’m surprised they even listened to me and came. I grab Lysandra by the hand and pull her until she’s standing alongside me. I can feel the anxiety coursing through her body as she shakes and shakes and shakes. Now it’s time for the hard part. 

“My proposal is…” I start. “...Lysandra…I’m giving her over to you.”
The other three in the group scoff and gasp in disbelief. Isabelle doing most of the scoffing, Cameron doing  most of the gasping. The people of McKeown’s cult start to cheer with relief and glee, some of them giving Lysandra dirty murderous yet lusftul looks. Lysandra gasps for air as she shares her look of shock between the cult members leering at her and me who stares straight ahead, trying to avoid her gaze. The  only person with no reaction to this information at all, is Ryan himself. 

“What do you mean you’re giving me over!” exclaims Lysandra, a tear in her eye. “I trusted you! You said you’d protect me! You said you would! You-”

I pull Lysandra in for a tight hug to stop her from making a scene. Clasping her in a warm embrace. I whisper into her ear. 

“Lysandra you have to relax.”

Lysandra shakes her head, trying to push herself away from me. I do my best to keep her here without hurting her, but she is relentless. 

“If you run away, all that will happen is that they will kill us.” I explain in another whisper. “Then they’ll track you down and kill you too.”

“So I’m just supposed to let you fucking hand me off?!” she protests with a venomous anger. I don’t blame her. I tighten my grip on Lysandra's shoulders and stare deep into her gorgeous eyes. 

You are reading story Juvenis at novel35.com

“I have a way to get you back before they even think about doing anything.” I assure her, a calmness in my voice. “Just trust me.”

It takes some time for Lysandra to calm herself down, but when she finally does she nods her head. Lysandra runs her hand down the side of my face. She pulls me in for a light kiss on the lips. 

“I trust you.” she whispers as she draws away from me and goes back to stand with the rest. Not sure if that was genuine affection, or a way to make me feel guilty. But either way, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate it. 

I turn back to Ryan who still stares at me, his expression having not changed, but his arms crossed even tighter. 

“What’s the catch?” asks Ryan. 

“Catch?” I ask. 

“Yes, what’s the catch?” he repeats. “You don’t expect me to believe you’re just giving her over do you?”  Ryan’s eyes narrow in on me. He’s right. He’s exactly right. 

“Me and you, right now. One on one combat. Whatever weapon of choice.” I propose. “You win and you get to not only take Lysandra as hostage and do whatever you want to her. If I  win and you not only leave us be, but you give us enough money to go towards our race for the cure.” 

Ryan tilts his head upwards. I’ve piqued his interest, that’s at least a start. 

“What!?” gasps Isabelle. “You’re joking right? You’re not serious about all this 

Ryan chuckles. The rest of his group must find me equally funny as they all start to chuckle too. 

“You want to fight me for her safety?” he asks. “It would be a less arduous process for you if you just gave her over straight away. This is just prolonging it.”

“I said what I said.” I assert. “You’re a man of honour aren’t you? What’s stopping you from accepting these terms?”

Ryan’s condescending smirk grows wider. He walks down off of the porch and squares up to me. 

“I accept those terms, but do you?” questions Ryan. “How do I know you won’t pull anything? Attack my people whilst we’re fighting?”

“All of my group are behind me where they will stay, everyone from the house and from when you confronted us on the hill.” I say to him, “You and your people can keep an eye on them and watch their every move during the fight. They won’t do anything.”

I gesture towards the  others who stand behind him. Ryan looks at Isabelle, Cameron, Grace and Lysandra with careful eyes. He stares them up and down, analysing their every movement. As he does so, Grace blows a sarcastic kiss his way. Ryan laughs. 

“Very well.” Ryan accepts. “One-on-one combat for the Devon , marvel at it everyone!”

Ryan stretches his hands out to the sky as he continues to look down on me. 

“Give me a few minutes to prepare.” I tell Ryan. 

“Fine,” he tells me. “I’ll be waiting.”

Ryan walks back to his ‘throne’ to be prepped for combat by his followers. I return back to my group who are not nearly as excited to see me as Ryan’s people are to see him. My eyes immediately dart towards Isabelle who now also has her arms tightly crossed. 

“What do you guys make of all of this?” I ask them. 

“You already know what I want to say about this.” she grills me. 

“Right…” I sigh, turning my attention away from her and towards Cameron. 

“To be honest, I don’t know what to say myself.” says Cameron. “Just don’t lose I guess…”

Can always count on encouragement from my friends, can't I? I look towards Lysandra who rubs her head as she stares at the floor. If anyone, she should be the one grilling me right now. I look her deep in the eyes again, waiting for her thoughts.

“I don’t feel particularly good about being used as a prize for a fight.” she laments. “But if it’s what has to be done to save me…then so be it.”

“Sorry.” I apologise to Lysandra. “But you know if there was another way that I would find it.”

I give Lysandra a reassuring nod. I look towards Grace who has a sombre look on her face

“Good luck.” she says to me. “But we know you don’t need it. We’re counting on you.”

That’s the most calm and genuine Grace has been in ages. I like it. Now I’m ready to do this. 

A few minutes pass and I find myself standing across from Ryan McKeown once more. His followers all gather around in  a group and form a semicircle surrounding the back and side of him . Grace, Cameron, Isabelle and most importantly, Lysandra on the other hand, stand a good distance behind me. Anticipation fills the air as we stare at each other down. Ryan takes off his shirt, revealing a heavily scarred and equally muscular upper body. I think that was an attempt to intimidate me. I follow him in also taking off my shirt. I'm not as big and muscular but that's not going to stop me from cracking his skull open. 

“Hubba hubba.” mocks Grace. I hear Isabelle groan. I can’t see her right now, but I can almost bet everything on the fact she is rolling her eyes right now.  

Ryan is tossed two large sticks, both with scorched tops. He catches both then throws one to me. I just about manage to catch the staff launched my way, whereas Ryan twirls his around effortlessly. 

“Are you familiar with the fire bo staff?” asks Ryan.

“No.” I say “But I’ll manage.”

“Then let’s begin.”

One of Ryan’s cultists lets out a loud passionate land-echoing scream - I assume that means the fight is on. Ryan paces slowly from side to side as he continues to do tricks with the staff. The members of his group chant and jeer in awe as he continues to showboat with his staff. 

“Kick the fucking shit out him, Khalil!” shouts Grace, eager to be the exception. Encouraging words, I think I’ll do just that. 

I stay rooted to my spot, watching Ryan. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to bait me into attacking him so that he will gain the upper hand. Well I’m not falling for it. No chance. 

Ryan notices my reluctance to attack first. He shrugs his shoulders as if to say “Very well” and stops swinging his staff around. He charges at me with great speed, pointing the scorched end of the staff in towards me like a fireman with a battering ram. I remain still, waiting for him to come closer and closer. Now he’s right where I want him. I dodge out of the way of his battering staff. Whilst his back is still turned, I swing my staff towards the back of his head. Ryan acts purely on instinct, dodging my blow with a duck. He doesn’t even take time to breathe, launching an attack to my stomach straight after. I drop to the floor, trying my best to bear the pain. In the corner of my eye I see Ryan who looks down on me like I'm pathetic. Enough of that. I immediately get back up on my feet, picking up my staff. Like a baseball bat, I swing it at a swift pace, aiming for his temple. The staff doesn’t even come close to hitting Ryan, as he effortlessly parries it out of the way. I try to go for a brisk follow up attack directed at his feet, but he quickly lowers his staff and parries that too. He takes the scorched end of the staff and jabs it into the middle of my chest. The pain from the burn knocks me back as I grit my teeth with strain and force. I somehow manage to stay on my feet this time, but barely. As I stop myself from stumbling backwards, I vaguely hear Cameron saying something to the others.

“This isn’t looking good,” he mutters. No. No way.  I can’t have that. I can’t have them thinking like that. Doubting me. I need to gain the upper hand, and quickly. 

I stand up and steady myself, meeting Ryan at eye-level again. He’s putting on that condescending smirk again. I’ll tear it off his face if I have to. 

Ryan spins himself and his staff around like he’s at a martial arts exhibition. He strikes the bo staff towards my side and gets a connected hit. But that’s fine, I wanted that to happen. I grab the staff with the underside of my arm, refusing to let go. Ryan tries to pull the staff from underneath me but he is unable to. I use my other hand to wield my staff and smack Ryan in the head with it. Ryan intentionally headbutts my staff as he comes towards his head, knocking it away. He then pulls his leg inwards and extends it into a push-kick that strikes me right in the chest. The kick forces me to let go of the staff and sends me on another series of stumbles as I struggle to stay on my feet. Ryan’s followers grow more cocky, shouting incomprehensible mocking insults at me. Ryan stands still in front of me, but this time he doesn’t smile. He just looks at me with pity. That bubbling anger resurfaces within me. I’m starting to get really sick of this. 

In my anger I break my bo-staff over my knees and split it into two. I launch both at Ryan in quick succession like throwing knives. Ryan dodges both, but this gives me enough time to close the distance between them. With a jump for momentum I punch Ryan straight across the face, finally landing a blow. The punch is enough to knock him backwards and bloody his lip. That’s a start at least.

“Yes! Get him!” cheers Grace. I will. 

I send a series of punches towards Ryan’s face. He dodges out of the way of every single one of them. I let my frustration out with another set of punches. None of these land either. I start to swing my fists wildly, desperate to connect fist to his face at any cost. But he dodges this all the same. 

“This is getting boring.” scoffs Ryan. 

With one swing of his large and calloused left fist, Ryan punches me square in the face. I’m not able to even process the first punch when he delivers a second, and a third. The last punch rocks me to my core and drops me to my knees. I carefully hold my nose which now drips full with blood. 

"Oh no!" I hear Lysandra gasp. “Khalil, are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” I grunt at her, barely able to speak, my mouth also filled with blood. 

I get up to see that Ryan has followed my lead in breaking his staff in two. Using them as batons, Ryan attacks me, beating at every uncovered inch of my body. I try and fail to block and parry the blows and am knocked to the ground. Ryan kicks me again, tumbling across the fighting area. I soon found myself pathetically sprawled underneath my group. 

“Fuck…” mutters Grace as she gets a good look at me. Isabelle and Cameron share concerned looks amongst each other. And I thought them seeing me getting stomped on by Declan was bad. This is much worse. 

I’m barely able to see Lysandra through my blurring vision. She rushes to my aid, cradling my head in her hands. 

“Khalil! Stay awake! Please stay awake.” she begs and pleads. “You have to finish this, I know you can do it!”

I look up to Lysandra, my eyes filled with tears of my own. 

“Sorry Lysandra…” I start. 

“Khalil! No!”

“But I think I’m done!” I scream out with all the energy I can possibly muster. 

Lysandra is startled and taken aback by my scream. Ryan and his comrades look at me, confused and amused. 

“I appreciate your passionate sentiment, Khalil." mocks Ryan as he walks closer to me. "But you are not done. Not yet-"

Whatever smug response Ryan was coming up with is immediately interrupted by the echoing boom of an explosion. The explosion shocks everyone in the general vicinity, with most instinctively crouching to the floor for safety, especially my group. 

Ryan turns around to see a huge chunk of his house has been blown to bits, taking many of his people down with it. Those who were near the house but somehow survived the explosion were injured by the debris. And those who survive both rush and dash away from the smoke and rubble that fills the air as the rest of the house comes crumbling down, collapsing from its lack of a structure. 

"What the hell was that!?" shouts Ryan as he looks back at his burning house and fallen comrades. You’re about to find out, Ryan.

Driving out of the smoke and rubble and onto the front of what used to be Ryan’s house is Michael sat on a motorbike. He has a bag slung around his shoulder, one hand on the bike's handlebar and another hand holding a submachine gun of which he hovers his finger over the trigger. He also brings with him the most sadistic smile I have ever seen on another man's face. 

“Hello you cunts!” chuckles Michael.

"Who the fuck are you?" asks Ryan. 

Michael places his finger onto the gun's trigger. 

"Get down!" I shout at Grace, Isabelle, Cameron and Lysandra. They heed my instructions as I join them in crouching down further until we are flat on the ground. Time to brace for impact. 

And right on cue, without hesitation, Michael lets loose on Ryan's group. He sways his rifle from gunning down a large chunk of Ryan’s men. Those who flee and those who try to fight back are all met with the same fate - a bullet from Michael. 

Ryan himself also ducks down to the floor to avoid Michael’s gunshots. He’s forced to watch as the rest of his men and women get shot up to bloody pieces. 

“What are you doing!” Ryan screams at those of his people who still remain unscathed. “Fight back!”

Some of Ryan’s men take his advice, throwing spears, knives and shooting arrows at Michael. Michael laughs at their attempts, continuing to shoot down each one. Some of the fighters attempt to protect and shield themselves with their weapons to little avail. One of the stray bullets ricochets off of a blade and hits Ryan in his thigh. 

“Fuck!” exclaims Ryan, slapping his palm on his thigh in a desperate attempt to plug the wound. After relentlessly shooting down nine tenths of Ryan’s comrades, Michael looks down to see that his gun has run out of ammo. 

“Ah, shit.” Michael complains as he taps the gun. He ducks just about in time to avoid being impaled through the head with an arrow. He laughs maniacally, revs his motorcycle and escapes the area in a trail of smoke. 

The few of Ryan’s comrades who still remain sprint after him, leaving Ryan on his own. I get back on my feet and usher the others to do the same. 

Still on the floor, Ryan looks up at me, angry, disappointed and confused. 

“I thought you said your whole group was behind you?” growls Ryan as he pants. "What happened to one-on-one combat? I thought we had an agreement?"

"Fuck your agreement" I spit at him. 

None of that hardly matters now. Him and his followers can go fuck themselves. Who has the time to care for honour when you have real friends to protect. 

"I'm not just going to kill Lysandra anymore.” threatens Ryan, snarling all the while. “I’m going to kill all of you.”

"Try it and I'll kill you and the rest of your people." I threaten him back. "Or what's left of them at least."

Ryan looks over to see the few of his comrades that still remain. They fail to keep up with Michael who reels away from them in his motorbike. Ryan lets out a dejected sigh, burying his face to the ground in shame. 

"Let's go before they come back." advises Isabelle. 

"Yeah, of course." I say back to her , struggling to stand. I seem to be having this problem a lot today. 

I try to sprint back to the car but my body is too weak to continue. The adrenaline I had that was pushing me through the pain has gone, my energy seeped out as I struggle to even keep my eyes open.

"Don't worry, I've got you." says Cameron as he lifts up and carries me. "Let's get back to the car."

The group follows Cameron as he lugs me on his back through the forest and back to the car. I struggle to keep myself awake, my body aching with fatigue and pain. 

"So that's what you and Michael were sharing secrets about." comments Grace. 

"It was." I mumble to her. 

"So that was your plan all along?" asks Isabelle. 

"More or less." I answer. 

"Nice…" 

I completed a dangerous plan that Isabelle didn’t immediately grill me for afterwards. That has to be a new type of record. Lysandra walks up close to Cameron and by extension me. She leans in towards me with a soft smile on her face. 

"I knew I could trust you." beams Lysandra with a gentle whisper.

Lysandra plants another delicate kiss on my lips. I would kiss her back if it didn't hurt my face so much. Right now all I can manage is a smile, something that she is able to return. 

As we get back to the car, Cameron opens the door and places me in one of the backseats. With my head against the dashboard, I stop fighting it and finally let myself black out into a sleep coma. Lord knows I need it…

I wake up at what feels like centuries later, sitting on the boot of the car. I'm surrounded by the other five who all stand around the car, staring onwards at something. I get up to look in the same direction as the rest of them. 

I see Dubois, his van, his bodyguards and his signature crowd all in the same place as last time. What's going on now? 

"What's going on now?" I ask them. 

"Look who's finally awake." snarks Isabelle. "And Dubois' doing a money check. He wants to see who's closest to winning the cure so far."

"When's he checking us?" I ask. 

"He already did." answers Cameron. 

Damn, I missed a lot. Must have been out for hours. 

"How much do we have again?" I ask them.  

"Two-thousand." answers Michael. 

"Two-thousand!?" I exclaim in disbelief. 

" Two-thousand." Michael confirms with a nod. "I stole a ton of cash from McKeown’s whilst I was rigging the place with explosives."

I look at Michael with the cheesiest grin on my face, a level of happiness I would have never have guessed that I would extend to him of all people. 

"You know what Michael?" I say. "I'm actually really glad you joined us."

"Of course you fucking are!" scoffs Michael. I knew he'd say something like that. 

"Shhh. It's starting." says Grace as she points towards the van. 

We watch on as Dubois stands atop the van. I notice the number of bodyguards has increased to three dozen. Not only that, but the weapons they hold also have slight improvements, with some of them holding snipers with light attachments on them.  Now I'm doubly glad I decided to deal with Ryan first instead of Declan. 

 Dubois addresses the gathered crowd with his hands held behind his back. He stands with his head held high, refusing to speak until he is sure he has the attention of most, if not all the people. As usual. 

"I have the results…today you will find out who those of you currently in the lead in terms of obtaining the cure are..." he states calmly. 

The crowd rumbles with anticipation, eager to hear the answer. I myself sit up properly, leaning over with my hands on my chin. We need to pay close attention to all of this. If we want even the slightest chance of getting that cure, we need to know who our biggest competition is…

"And in third place is…" says Dubois. "Daniel Zhang's group."

Dubois' bodyguards point their snipers into the crowd. The light shines on the face of a tall, muscular but slim Eastern Asian man and his group. I'm assuming that's Daniel Zhang. 

"In second place is…" continues Dubois. “Rhena Thorne’s group.”

Dubois’ bodyguards point their snipers into another part of the crowd. The light shines on the face of a short yet stocky woman with dyed red hair and an even larger group of people around her. Daniel Zhang and Rhena Thorne. I need to keep those names in mind moving forward. I need to keep their whole groups in mind come to think of it. But the group who I really need to keep in mind is whoever he says next…

“And the group that’s currently in first place…” says Dubois as slowly and measured as he can possibly manage. The crowd's attention hangs in anticipation. He’s really building this one up isn’t he. Really making us wait. Come on, spit it out. Spit it out. Spit it out. 

“...is Khalil Ibori’s group.”

Is…is he for real? Did…he just say my name? 

“Oh my God, that’s us!” squeals Lysandra in excitement. I wasn’t imagining it. He did. He did just say my name. We are in first place. We are the closest to getting the cure right now…

A wave of relief washes over the group. We’re so excited we barely take notice of the bright sniper lights that shine over our faces. But none of them are as relieved as me. I've been constantly worried we weren't collecting money fast enough. That's why I've been pushing the group so much, pushing myself so much. But it seems like if anything, I overcompensated. We're doing well. Really, really, really  fucking well! 

"First place!" celebrates Grace who high-fives Michael. 

“Fucking unbelievable!” cheers Isabelle as she grasps a giddy Cameron with a tight hug. 

Our relief is quickly squashed however. We come to notice that the rest of the people here don't share our excitement over the news. Their collective eyes laser in on us. You can practically feel the jealousy and resentment that burns through them. It’s a good thing Dubois’ and his men are here and it’s an even better thing we’re right next to our car. Cause if that crowd gets to us, there’s no doubt in my mind that they will mercilessly tear us to shreds. And judging by the look in their eyes, that would only be the best case scenario for us. 

As usual, good news only ever comes with bad news. The good news: We’re clearly making great progress when it comes to getting that cure. The bad news:

By doing so we’ve painted a large target on our back.

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