Corey dragged his feet along the broken concrete of the street. He clutched his stomach while he gasped with ragged breath. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the various unconscious bodies on the grounds behind him. What happened…

He was on his way back from a fight, already tired and sore from it. Pissed from his defeat, he decided to go back to his place. It was getting pretty late, anyway, so he figured he might as well. The streets aren’t populated at this time of night. If there’s anything Corey took respite in, it’s the quiet that comes from the lack of people. It was January now, so a chill permeated the atmosphere. Luckily he had a jacket on, letting him reduce whatever cold he can feel. For however hot this godforsaken country can get, it can be bitingly cold whenever it wants to be.

He took out a pack of cigs from his pocket, digging for his lighter in the other one. Even though he tried laying them off for a while, he thought he deserved one for what he just came from. Corey turned into an alley as he lit one, taking a hit as he did. As he walked, he saw a few people just loitering around, walking beside them. Just a few people at night smoking or drinking, nothing new. Nothing to worry about, he thought. Thankfully, his alert senses told him otherwise. 

It was the tiniest thing, but maybe the quiet of the night helped. Corey heard the rustling of clothes behind him, and even a couple footsteps. He stopped in his tracks, hearing the steps behind him stop too. “I don’t think you’re doin’ the right thing, fellas,” he called out. The footsteps started again, and so did he. He listened carefully. One step, two steps, and then--

He moved in an instant, rearing his fist to connect with the person behind him. Instant knockback. The assailant staggered a few feet away, spittle flying out as they did. Not letting the opportunity pass him, he quickly followed up with a kick in the same spot. This fully downed them, turning them into a groaning pile on the ground. Corey looked up at the others, already rearing their fists for a fight. Corey heaved, putting his own arms up as he smiled wickedly. 

“You’re all lucky, y’know that? I just lost an important fight, and I’m mad!” He punctuated his sentence with a right hook, clocking one of them on the side of the face, sending him staggering a bit to the side too. “Now,” Corey said, the same sinister grin on his face, “let’s dance, shall we?”

He was at an obvious disadvantage, Corey thought. There were four of them up against one very, very tired him. This isn’t the first time, he reassured himself, let’s not make this the last. Quick on his feet despite his sore body, Corey let the adrenaline rush carry him as he ducked and dodged the four gangsters’ attacks. Just look for an opening, he thought to himself, these ugly mugs gotta tire out eventually. If there’s anything he’s learned, is that any opponent you can’t outstrength you need to outlive. The juice in the tank wasn’t going to be enough though, as Corey started slowing down earlier than he’d like. The effortless dodges started becoming near misses, and the near misses becoming hits. 

Damn these guys aren’t letting up, are they? Corey slugged on, throwing haymaker after haymaker against them, but each punch he threw they answered back with four. It came to that eventual point where someone pulled a balisong out. Great. He did his best to dodge the blade that just came in the picture, but his stamina was starting to catch up to him. His body wanted nothing more than to take a rest, but he was far from taking one. 

One of them got a lucky hit into his stomach, making him double over. He heard the air shift and narrowly dodged the one with a knife from bringing it down on his back, but this cost him, making him lose his balance and stumble over. He tried to recover quickly but they didn’t let up, quickly stomping and kicking him onto the ground. Corey tried his best to cover his head and face, but the torrent of dropkicks on him proved relentless. For a moment they stopped as one of them grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, ready to throw a final sock to the jaw. 

As he was hoisted up, one of them tugging on the hoodie he had on, he felt the binder underneath rip apart and snap. 

He didn’t know what possessed him, but from that point on he only remembered a white hot light inside, and an insatiable, uncontrollable anger. When he came to, he felt exhausted. There weren’t any words that he could use to describe the absolute lack of energy in his body, with whatever remaining adrenaline keeping him on his feet. He didn’t know what happened, nor what he should do, but his body felt there was only one place he could go: home. Or at least, the place he once called home.

He continued to shuffle in the empty alleys, trying his best to stay hidden from any more ambushers that might come for him, lest they finish the job the others couldn’t. There were a few narrow dodges, of suspicious looking types and of barangay tanods, but he eventually managed to get to where his legs wanted to go. 

Before him was a simple concrete doorstep with faded green paint with a screen door having holes in its finer metal mesh. Behind it was the actual door into the house, a wooden one painted over with a peeling layer of brown paint. Guess I must be desperate to come back here, huh? He raised his hand and took the handle of the screen door, making as much noise as he could. 

“Dad! Dad! I’m home!”

And as if on cue, he felt his legs give out from underneath him, with his consciousness starting to slip out as he can see the door behind the screen one open, the light of the house flooding into the street as he closed his eyes.