Blood on the Pavement

The fluorescent light overhead flickered like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to stay alive. My breath came in sharp bursts as I backed deeper into the alley, the walls closing in around me.

Every sound was magnified—the hiss of a cat somewhere above, the distant thump of bass from a club two streets over, the faint patter of water dripping from a cracked pipe.

Then a voice broke through.

“You’ve been making too much noise, Arman.”

The tone was calm, but it carried weight.

A man stepped forward from the shadows. He was massive, the kind of big you couldn’t fake with the gym—real, functional muscle, like he’d spent his life lifting cargo or breaking bones. A long scar traced the line of his cheek, disappearing into the stubble on his jaw.

“Kamal sends his regards,” he said, his voice low but cutting through the alley like a knife.

I took a step back. My fists clenched before my brain could catch up. “I don’t have anything to say to Kamal.”

“That’s good,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Because Kamal didn’t ask you to talk.”

He moved fast for his size. One second, he was three steps away; the next, his fist slammed into the wall where my head had been a moment before. Plaster dust fell like snow. I ducked low, swung my arm up, and drove a punch into his ribs.

It was like punching a steel beam.

He barely flinched.

Instead, his backhand connected with my cheek so hard I saw stars. My head whipped sideways, my body crashing into a stack of plastic crates that clattered to the ground in a messy avalanche.

Pain radiated from my jaw, my ears ringing.

Before I could recover, his boot pressed into my chest, pinning me. My breath caught, panic flaring in my gut.

“You’re lucky Kamal wants you alive,” he said. “But alive doesn’t mean unharmed.”

He pressed harder, the sole grinding into my ribs. I clawed at his leg, gasping, but his weight didn’t shift.

Then I saw it—just over my shoulder—a rusted steel pipe lying half-hidden in the debris.

I forced my body to go slack.

The pressure on my chest eased slightly as he reached into his jacket—probably for rope, cuffs, maybe even a gun.

That’s when I moved.

My hand shot out, fingers wrapping around the cold, rough metal of the pipe. I swung upward, the edge catching him in the shin.

He let out a grunt, more annoyance than pain, but the surprise was enough. My second swing came hard, cracking against the side of his temple.

This time, he staggered back.

I rolled to my feet and bolted.

The alley spilled out into a crowded night market, the air thick with the smell of grilled meat and fried noodles. Strings of bare bulbs lit the rows of vendors, their shouts and laughter filling the humid night.

I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the angry yells as I knocked into shoulders and elbows. My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear anything else.

I risked a glance back.

The big man was gone.

But my relief was short-lived.

Two others had replaced him—leaner, faster, and their eyes locked on me like predators scenting blood.

I turned sharply down a narrow side street, my sneakers skidding on the damp pavement. The noise of the market faded, replaced by the hum of an empty road and the faint echo of my own footsteps.

A dumpster loomed on my right, and I ducked behind it, clutching the pipe tight. My chest rose and fell, each breath scraping my throat.

“Come out, Arman,” one of them called, his voice mocking, almost sing-song. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

I stayed still, the stench of rotting food filling my nose.

Then a shadow moved.

Another figure appeared at the far end of the street.

They were flanking me.

I didn’t wait for them to close in. I burst from hiding, swinging the pipe wide. The clang of metal on bone echoed as I caught one across the shoulder. He let out a guttural groan, stumbling back.

The other was faster. He lunged, tackling me to the ground. The impact knocked the air from my lungs, my fingers scraping the asphalt.

I threw an elbow into his jaw, but he barely loosened his grip before shoving me down again. This time, a glint of silver flashed in his hand.

A knife.

“Not so fast,” a new voice said.

It was calm. Confident.

Both men froze.

From the shadows stepped Rahman, his white shirt crisp despite the humidity, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. He walked with the ease of someone who knew the street belonged to him.

“You’re making my city very messy, Arman,” he said. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, tapping the ash onto the ground. “If you’re going to be a problem for Kamal, then maybe you can be my problem instead.”

The man with the knife hesitated, looking between Rahman and me.

“Stand down,” Rahman said without looking at him.

They obeyed immediately.

Rahman crouched until our eyes met. Up close, his smile was as sharp as broken glass.

“You need protection,” he said. “And I need someone desperate enough to do what others won’t. I think we can help each other.”

My grip on the pipe tightened. “And what if I say no?”

His smile widened, but his eyes didn’t change.

“Then I’ll step aside… and let them finish the job.”

We stared at each other, the night hanging heavy between us. Somewhere far away, a car horn blared.

Finally, Rahman straightened and flicked his cigarette into the gutter.

“Think about it, Arman. I’ll find you again soon.”

He turned and walked away, the two men following like shadows melting into the dark.

The moment they were gone, my knees buckled. I leaned against the wall, the pipe clattering to the ground.

Two enemies now.

Kamal wanted me alive—for now.

Rahman wanted me in his pocket.

And both of them were more dangerous than anything I’d faced before.

I knew I had to move fast. I headed deeper into the city, away from the neon-lit streets and toward the quieter outskirts where the air smelled faintly of diesel.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Gulzar.

WHERE ARE YOU??

Another followed instantly.

They’re looking for you. Both of them.

I stopped walking. My pulse spiked again.

If both sides were searching, that meant my time was even shorter than I thought.

Then the third message came.

Meet me at the old bus depot. Midnight. Come alone.

The night stretched ahead of me like a long, dark road. And I knew that no matter which way I turned, there would be blood on the pavement before it was over.