Chapter 11.

30 more chapters on P@treon.com/Rentakun.

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A week flew by.

School was as miserable as ever. I was grateful that Jordan was already 15 when I took over his life. Starting from scratch as a baby—going through nursery and all that—would have been excruciatingly dull.

As for my nightly excursions around the city, I finally felt I had a solid grasp of my strength. Each night, I returned to the dump, testing my limits with exhilarating acrobatics and parkour on the rooftops. I was now confident that I could handle a melee without blowing someone's head off with a single punch.

Tonight would be different. I decided I wouldn't confine myself to the dumpsite any longer. Just as practicing Krav Maga against imaginary opponents had its limits, so did practicing on my own. I raced across the rooftops toward the location where I'd fought Hammerhead's goons before. Under my hoodie, I wore a makeshift ballistic vest fashioned from scavenged furniture.

A few sheets of metal, held together with copious amounts of duct tape, covered my vital organs. It wasn't a real ballistic vest, but I was confident it would stop a few rounds. The metal was heavy, but my enhanced physicality made it barely noticeable.

I arrived at the street where the previous altercation had occurred and looked down from the rooftop where I had escaped. The car and police presence were long gone. The only evidence of the fight was slight chippings in the nearby building's brickwork and pavement from stray bullets. Without my enhanced vision, I might not have noticed the damage.

Hearing nothing out of the ordinary in the nearby streets, I began trotting across rooftops at what I considered a cruising speed—fast enough to cover ground without exhausting myself too quickly. I estimated my speed at around 20 mph (32 km/h), giving me a decent range for the night.

I moved southward, leaving residential areas behind for the storage warehouses near the airport and docks. Just as I was about to turn back after half an hour, mindful of the amulets' effects, I heard unmistakable gunfire.

Not just a few shots, but repeated bursts. I hesitated for a moment, recalling the terror of being shot at. I gulped but kept my gaze fixed in the direction of the shots.

I'd never be a hero if I couldn't face gunfire. I leapt from my perch and sprinted, reaching speeds of 26 mph (42 km/h). As I got closer, I could distinguish different weapons firing—some with rapid, faint shots, others with a deeper rumble.

A gunfight?

When I was only a warehouse away, I slowed and focused on my hearing. I detected several weapons firing and occasional agonized wails. The intensity of the gunfight was escalating.

Learning from my previous mistake, I'd bought a cheap burner phone to call the cops.

"911, what is your emergency?" a calm woman answered, her calmness fading as she heard the chaos in the background.

"Are those gunshots? Where are you!?" she asked urgently.

I read out the street name from a warehouse sign across from me. As I was about to hang up, I asked, "How long until the police get here?"

Misinterpreting my concern, she replied, "Don't worry, stay hidden and quiet. We'll have responders there in a few minutes. Now, can you tell me your name?"

I hung up. A few minutes was acceptable.

I leapt onto the rooftop of the warehouse where the gunfight was raging and found a skylight hatch, something I'd learned from the numerous buildings I'd passed. Peering into the darkness below, I dropped through and landed in a crouch.

My hearing indicated a fight on both sides of the warehouse.

"Secure the shipment! If any of it is missing, you'll have to explain it personally to Hammerhead!" I heard muffled orders from those closest to me.

Hammerhead again? Why couldn't my first attempts at crime-fighting involve simple muggings or burglaries? The voice reassured me, though. It seemed Hammerhead's men were firing away from my direction. I moved silently from shadow to shadow.

Peering around the corner, I saw the warehouse's main holding bay illuminated by large overhead lights. I had landed in the office area. I witnessed the chaos—raw, unrefined combat. Each side had a dozen combatants hiding behind cover made of pallets, barrels, and construction materials like slate and timber.

In the corner, the spoils of this violence were guarded behind crates, with fallen gangmates littering the floor.

I'd seen enough. Time to act.

I moved stealthily, approaching a large, broad-shouldered Hammerhead goon from behind. He was firing an automatic rifle, the noise echoing loudly. I knew stealth was unnecessary; he wouldn't hear me over the gunfire.

I kept low, kicked the back of his knee with enough force to hear a pop, and before he could scream, I delivered a roundhouse kick to his head. His body slumped to the floor.

Looking around, the overwhelming gunfire forced me to rely on my vision. That takedown had been too easy. An animalistic grin spread across my face as I relished the simplicity of the task.

I was a predator on the hunt. My grin widened into a manic smile. Anyone who saw me then would have felt like they were trapped with a tiger, not a person.

I moved swiftly to my next target, delivering a punch to the side of his head. I didn't wait to see him hit the floor.

My next targets were a pair concentrating fire on a group approaching their cargo. I shoved one into the other, sending them crashing into crates. They hadn't noticed me. A predator's presence is only revealed when it strikes.

The first man tried to stand, only to meet my foot to his chin, knocking him unconscious. His buddy followed with a knife-hand strike to his throat, leaving him gasping for breath as he clutched his neck.

I had now taken out a quarter of Hammerhead's men, resulting in two things: both sides of the conflict had noticed me, and Hammerhead's goons were forced to fight on two fronts. The opposing group quickly capitalized on their numerical advantage.

As one of Hammerhead's men aimed at me, I dove behind a stack of pallets just as bullets splintered the wood. I growled, angry at the audacity of a mere rabbit challenging a tiger.

I spotted a chain connected to a walkway above. When the gangster finished his magazine and started reloading, I climbed the chain in a display of strength and agility, swinging over the railing onto the walkway.

A barrage of bullets shattered the windows above as they tried to get the drop on me. Glass rained down, but my enhanced body prevented serious injury. I grabbed some larger glass fragments and threw them at the light sources above. Despite my enhanced senses, it took several attempts to hit the bulbs amid the gunfire.

Eventually, I shattered the nearest light, plunging the area into darkness.

Let's see how they cope without light. For the night is dark and full of terrors, I thought with a manic chuckle.

The other group reached the shipment and dragged the weapons out of the warehouse under cover fire. Hammerhead's men, now outnumbered and plunged into darkness, had lost their will to fight. With their shipment stolen, they ducked for cover, waiting for the attackers to leave so they could escape. Both gangs knew that their conflict would soon attract law enforcement.

But how could I let them leave like this?