I hover above the wrecked city, the wind pulling at my shirt as I decide it's time to act. No more waiting—I need cash, and I've got the tools to get it. I focus, activating my Six Eyes, all six blinking open across my body—two on my chest, two on my shoulders, and the pair on my face. The world snaps into focus, sharper than anything I've ever seen. It's like having a radar and a microscope in one. I narrow my vision, scanning for heat signatures and movement, cutting through the smoke and rubble below.
Through walls and broken buildings, I see it all. A couple of guys counting crumpled bills in a trashed shop. A lone thug with a gun stuffed in his pants, pacing by a wrecked car. Then, in a dark alley, a handful of shady figures making a deal—cash changes hands, something small gets pocketed. I don't care what they're trading. I just clock the details: who's got a knife, who's holding cash, who's got a gun or not. It's all the same to me with Infinity, but I like knowing what I'm walking into.
I teleport, hopping from one rooftop to the next, the city flashing by. One moment I'm above a smashed-up store, the next I'm crouched on the edge of a crumbling office building. It's second nature now, like flicking a light switch in my head. I keep scanning, jumping across the ruins, hunting for the perfect mark—someone with money, not too many buddies, easy to shake down. Then I spot something that makes my gut twist.
In a narrow alley below, ten rough-looking guys have a girl cornered against a grimy brick wall. She's young, maybe early 20s, with short dark hair and a torn shirt. She's got her back flat against the wall, no way out. The thugs are a mean bunch—big, scarred, some with knives gleaming in the dim light, others just flexing their fists. They're taunting her, closing in tight. One of them, a lanky guy with a buzzcut, grabs her wrist. She jerks, trying to break free, but he's got her pinned.
The leader—stocky, patchy beard—steps up, lighting a cigarette. He blows smoke in her face and smirks, his voice dripping with sleaze. "Come on, sweetheart. No need to be shy. We just wanna have some fun." She glares back, eyes burning despite the fear, and spits square in his face. The alley goes dead quiet for a heartbeat. His smirk vanishes, replaced by a scowl. He wipes the spit off with one hand, raises the other to slap her, and that's when I move.
I teleport in, landing right between the girl and the leader in an instant. My hands are in my pockets, head tilted like I'm mildly amused. Infinity's already active—it's been humming around me since I woke up—and his hand stops dead, inches from my chest, like it's slammed into an invisible wall. He stumbles forward, off-balance, and the whole group freezes. The girl's behind me now, her quick breaths brushing my back.
After that, the girl goes back to the wall behind her, seeing that someone was here to help, and goes into a corner so as to not get into the crossfire.
I smirk, keeping it casual. "Wow, ten guys? Against one girl? That's kinda pathetic."
The leader recovers, wiping the last of the spit off his cheek, his face flushed with rage. "Who the fuck are you? And How the fuck did you get here?" snarls a wiry guy with a knife, stepping out from the side. He's got a scar slicing down his cheek, and he's sneering like he's itching to use that blade. Another thug, a big one with hands like hams, cracks his knuckles, the sound bouncing off the walls. The leader squints at me, eyes narrowing as he sizes me up, probably thinking I'm some wannabe hero sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. "You got a death wish, asshole?" he growls, flicking his cigarette to the ground.
I tilt my head, playing dumb. "Death wish? Oh, no, no. I just thought I'd, y'know, take your money. And maybe kick your asses." They stare at me, then at each other, and start laughing. The knife guy bends over, gasping for air between chuckles. "Oh, this guy's lost it," says a shorter thug with a scruffy mustache. "Let's teach him a lesson." They're still snickering, wiping their eyes, like I'm the best joke they've heard all week.
The leader steps closer, rolling his shoulders. "Last chance, freak. Walk away, or we carve you up." I don't budge, just stand there, hands in my pockets, grinning like I've got a secret. Which I do. The girl's still behind me, pressed against the wall, her breathing fast and shallow. Her eyes are on me, probably wondering if I'm insane or her way out. The thugs close in, knives raised, fists ready, thinking they're about to make an example of me. They don't know what's coming.
…..
The laughter dies fast when the skinny thug with the patchy beard decides he's had enough of my smirking. He charges, knife clutched tight in his fist, the blade aimed straight for my chest. His boots slap the pavement, his face twisted with a mix of anger and dumb confidence. I don't move—just stand there, hands still in my pockets, watching him come. The knife gets close, the tip glinting as it arcs toward me, and then—nothing. It stops, inches from my shirt, hovering like it's stuck in molasses. Infinity's doing its thing, a perfect wall of nope between me and his pathetic stab.
The thug's eyes go wide, his sneer melting into confusion. He pushes harder, arm shaking, veins popping out on his wrist, but the knife won't budge. He yanks it back, stares at it, then tries again—same result. His hand trembles like his muscles just forgot how to work, and he looks up at me, mouth half-open, like I've broken some unspoken rule of how fights are supposed to go.
I sigh, long and dramatic, letting my shoulders slump like I'm genuinely let down. "You really thought that would work?" I say, voice dripping with mock pity. Before he can answer, I flick my finger—just a little twitch, barely an effort. A ripple of cursed energy shoots out, sharp and fast, and slams into him like a freight train. He flies back, legs flailing, and crashes into a rusty dumpster with a loud clang. The metal dents under him, and he slumps to the ground, groaning, out cold. One down.