"Okay, first, I desperately need information. The simplest way would be to ask someone, but that's not an option. I don't know anyone in this entire world, and frankly, I trust absolutely no one.
Second, like any world, this place must have thieves and criminals. If I can find some, perhaps I can... extract the information I need. That's only if I can subdue them, though.
I'm reasonably confident in my ability to overpower a normal human, even though I'm young. But I still need to be incredibly careful; there's no room for error here. What happens if I can't subdue them? Asking strangers for help seems incredibly risky and goes against my need for secrecy.
Adding to the danger, I know nothing about the biology here. Are these humans similar to those on Earth? What about the demihumans? How different are they? I might have to perform some tests on a captured subject to understand the risks and potential vulnerabilities. The existence of demihumans just adds another significant variable I must consider
Ren walked away from the main road, turning into a narrower, less populated side street, the noise of the market immediately dimming. He noted the change in architecture – less maintained, shabbier buildings leaning closer together. He turned again into a darker, more deserted alleyway branching off it. The air grew heavier here, thick with the smells of refuse, stagnant water, and something vaguely metallic that prickled his nostrils. It felt like the kind of place trouble might fester. 'Time to verify the cliché,' Ren thought coolly, his senses sharpening, every shadow scrutinized. He casually shifted the plastic bag to his left hand, keeping his right free. He walked deeper, the sounds of the outside world fading almost completely. Ahead, the alley branched into a T-junction. He paused, scanning both directions. Left seemed slightly deeper in shadow. Calculated risk favored better concealment if things escalated. He turned left.
He hadn't taken ten steps when movement ahead solidified into a figure detaching itself from the deepest shadows, deliberately blocking his path. The man was large, barrel-chested, with thick arms and a predatory set to his shoulders. A grotesque, anticipatory smile stretched across his face, revealing stained, uneven teeth. Before Ren could fully react – though his body was already tensed – two more figures materialized silently from recesses behind him, slimmer and wirier, but moving with a practiced, flanking menace that sealed the trap. Three opponents, confined space, clear predatory intent. Ren's internal assessment was swift. 'Opportunistic thugs. Low-level. Overconfident.'
"Umm... why are you blocking my way? D-do you need something?" Ren pitched his voice higher, forcing a nervous tremor into it. He deliberately widened his eyes, hunching his shoulders slightly, projecting vulnerability and youth. He saw the big man's posture relax almost imperceptibly, the greedy light in his eyes intensifying. Contempt replaced caution on the thug's face. The bait was taken.
After a deliberately intimidating pause, the large man rumbled, "Lost, little fella? Shouldn't be wandering down these parts alone. Lots of nasty types lurkin' about, ready to rob folk like you. Very dangerous." The feigned concern was paper-thin. He took a heavy step closer, placing a large, grimy hand possessively on Ren's shoulder. Ren permitted the contact, fighting the urge to recoil, though his muscles were coiled springs beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt. 'Slow. Predictable approach,' he catalogued.
"Oh, umm… I-I was looking for my big brother," Ren stammered convincingly, letting his eyes dart around frantically as if searching. "He came down this way, a-and I got separated. I'm completely lost." He projected naive panic, playing the role of easy prey. The big man's grin widened into a leering smirk. He exchanged a smug glance with his cronies flanking Ren from behind.
"Well now, ain't that just yer lucky day?" the big man chuckled, his voice losing all pretense of friendliness. "No need to worry that pretty little head. We know these alleys like the back of our hands. We'll show ya the way out. Just us good Samaritans, see? Helpin' folks out. Don't you worry 'bout a thing." The grin was purely predatory now. The two goons behind Ren snickered, their eyes fixed on his strange clothes and the plastic bag he carried.
"Oh, thank you so much–" Ren began, maintaining the grateful act.
The big man cut him off abruptly, his tone hardening, grip tightening. "Right then. Since we're gonna be helping ya… don't ya think ya oughtta give us a little somethin' for our trouble?" The gazes of all three were now filled with undisguised malice and avarice. They looked rough, likely in their early twenties judging by their faces, their grubby appearances reflecting their apparent station in life. Bottom-feeders, exactly as anticipated.
"Y-yeah… sure," Ren stuttered, shrinking back slightly. "Wh-what do you need?"
"Everything ya got on ya, kid," snarled one of the wiry men from behind.
"I-I don't have anything!" Ren injected real fear into his voice, clutching the plastic bag tighter. "My brother has our money! When I find him, I-I promise, I'll give you whatever you want!"
"Nah, nah, nah," the big man rumbled, shaking his head slowly. "We need somethin' now."
"Th-then you don't need to help me!" Ren tried pulling away, voice trembling. "I-I can find my own way! I'll just go look for my brother!"
"Oh no," the big man's smile turned cruel. "There's no goin' back now. When we say we help someone, we help 'em."
"Boss, quit playin' with him! Just kill him already, this is boring," whined the other man from behind.
"But I really don't have anything!" Ren insisted, backing up a step, deliberately bumping into one of the thugs behind him. 'Right on schedule,' he thought, a cold detached part of his mind observing the escalation.
"Give me everything!" the big man roared, his face twisting in frustration and anger. "Those fancy clothes yer wearin' look like they'll fetch a copper or two! The rest of ya can feed the alley rats!" His free hand shot out, snatching not at Ren's pockets, but clumsily towards the plastic bag Ren held – the unknown object piquing his crude curiosity.
The instant the big man committed, Ren moved. He sidestepped the clumsy grab with fluid grace, simultaneously pivoting on the ball of his foot. His right hand shot out, not striking, but firmly clasping the thug's outstretched wrist, locking the joint. Using the man's own momentum against him, Ren pulled him forward and slightly off-balance. As the larger body stumbled past, Ren brought his right knee up sharply, driving it into the soft, vulnerable spot of the man's abdomen – the solar plexus.
A choked gasp escaped the big man as the air was violently expelled from his lungs. Before the shock fully registered, Ren used the locked wrist grip and a subtle hip-check to redirect the stumbling thug's trajectory, giving him a controlled shove directly towards the two smaller goons who were just beginning to react, fumbling for weapons.
The big man crashed into his unprepared underlings like a bowling ball. All three tangled in a heap of flailing limbs and curses, collapsing onto the grimy cobblestones. They scrambled to untangle themselves, surprise momentarily overriding aggression. The big man clutched his stomach, wheezing, his face contorted in pain and rage.
"I'm gonna… kill you… painfully!" he finally gasped out between ragged breaths, pushing himself shakily upright.
"You should focus on standing first," Ren replied, his voice devoid of the earlier fear, now laced with a chilling calm that seemed more unsettling than overt mockery. He noted the leader was still unsteady, favouring his midsection.
Enraged, the big man fumbled instinctively at his belt, reaching for the knife Ren had clocked the moment the man first stepped out of the shadows. His hand met empty air. Confusion warred with fury on his face as he patted his belt again, then scanned the ground around him frantically.
"Looking for this?" Ren asked quietly. He held up the cheap, serrated dagger, balanced casually between his thumb and forefinger. He'd lifted it smoothly from the sheath during the brief, controlled chaos of the takedown, right before sending the man careening into his underlings. A basic lift, executed flawlessly.
"How…? Give that back! It's mine!" the big man bellowed, pure rage momentarily overriding his pain.
"If it's yours," Ren said softly, a faint, dangerous smile playing on his lips, "come and take it."
"What are you two idiots waiting for?!" the big man shrieked at his companions, who were finally scrambling to their feet, drawing their own crude knives. "Kill him! KILL HIM!"
'Their coordination is poor. Over-reliant on the leader,' Ren observed dispassionately as the two wiry thugs, unnerved but obeying orders, advanced cautiously towards him. The big man hung back, still clutching his gut, clearly waiting for an opening.
The first thug lunged, aiming a clumsy slash towards Ren's throat. Ren stepped back smoothly, letting the momentum carry the man past. As the thug stumbled slightly off-balance from the missed strike, Ren saw his opening. He lashed out with a precise side-kick, not aimed at lethality, but maximum incapacitation. The heel of his shoe connected squarely with the thug's chest, impacting just below the sternum – a blow targeted to disrupt breathing and induce temporary paralysis. The thug let out a sharp grunt and collapsed, gasping like a landed fish, unable to rise.
The second thug, momentarily startled by his companion's swift defeat, hesitated fractionally before pressing the attack, slashing wildly in a panicked flurry. Ren easily sidestepped the wider arcs, deflecting closer cuts with movements of the stolen dagger he now held properly. 'Predictable patterns. Limited training,' he noted clinically. After parrying a particularly awkward slash that left the thug overextended, Ren reversed his grip on the stolen dagger. He stepped inside the man's guard and brought the heavy pommel down sharply onto the bridge of the man's nose.
There was a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed. The thug howled in pain, stumbling back, hands flying to his shattered nose. Before he could recover or attempt another strike, Ren closed the distance again. Five rapid, targeted punches – not wild swings, but precise jabs aimed at pressure points around the jaw and temple – landed with brutal efficiency. The thug's eyes rolled back, and he crumpled silently to the cobblestones, unconscious.
Just as the second thug fell, a sixth sense screamed a warning. Ren spun, pivoting away from the fallen man, trusting the instinct. The big man, having recovered somewhat, had seized the opportunity while Ren was occupied. He'd grabbed the first thug's fallen dagger and lunged, aiming a desperate, sweeping slash where Ren had been standing a split second before.
Ren easily sidestepped the attack, frustration clear on the big man's pain-twisted face. He lunged again, attacking with renewed ferocity fueled by desperation, launching a series of quick, sloppy slashes aimed vaguely at Ren's eyes, joints, and throat. Ren flowed around the attacks, a blur of controlled evasion, letting the man tire himself out. The alley was too narrow for wide manoeuvres, forcing a close-quarters dance Ren dictated.
After parrying another wild swing, Ren saw his opening. He feinted high with the dagger, drawing the big man's guard up, then dropped low and delivered another short, vicious punch directly to the same spot on the abdomen he had kneed earlier. The cumulative trauma was instantaneous. The big man buckled, collapsing to his knees with a strangled groan. As he tried to push himself up, Ren stepped forward decisively, planting his foot firmly on the man's injured stomach to hold him down. Simultaneously, his dagger flashed, not lethally, but purposefully slashing across the muscles of the man's weapon-wielding arm, near the shoulder joint, severing tendons and eliciting a sharp cry of pain as the borrowed knife clattered uselessly away. Before the cry could turn into a full-throated yell that might attract unwanted attention, Ren brought the flat of the stolen dagger blade firmly against the man's throat.
"Yell again, curse, make any loud noise," Ren said, his voice chillingly calm, devoid of any inflection, "and I will sever your neck. Nod if you understand."
Terror dilated the big man's pupils. He nodded frantically, body trembling beneath Ren's foot.
Faint groans came from the first thug Ren had kicked. He was trying to push himself up, eyes hazy with pain. Before he could become a renewed threat or attempt to flee, Ren smoothly retrieved the big man's original dagger from where he'd dropped it near his foot. With a flick of his wrist, honed by hours of throwing practice with scalpels(a secret hobby), he sent the dagger spinning through the air. It embedded itself deep into the downed thug's thigh muscle, pinning him to the ground.
A raw scream tore through the alley – "Aaaaaahhhhhhhhh!"
...Ren ignored him for the moment. He swiftly administered several shallow, non-critical cuts to the big man's limbs – just enough to encourage bleeding and hasten weakness, further ensuring compliance without risking fatality. Then he moved to the screaming man with the dagger in his thigh. Kneeling beside him, Ren assessed the thigh wound – bleeding heavily but likely missed the femoral artery. With practiced efficiency, Ren used the man's own sturdy tunic, tearing strips to create a makeshift pressure bandage directly over the embedded knife (removing it would worsen bleeding), stemming the worst of the blood flow. Then, with precise knowledge of human anatomy, Ren delivered a targeted strike with the heel of his hand to the vagus nerve cluster on the side of the man's neck. The man went limp instantly, rendered unconscious.
He turned to the second thug, the one with the broken nose and concussive blows. He was stirring, moaning softly. Ren repeated the nerve strike with the same detached precision. The thug slumped silently, unconscious. Lastly, he checked the big man. He was pale, likely slipping into unconsciousness from pain, blood loss, and sheer terror. A quick check confirmed a thready but present pulse. Perfect.
Swiftly scanning the alley again to ensure no one had been alerted by the brief scream, Ren worked quickly. He efficiently searched the unconscious men, his expression unchanging as he retrieved only a handful of battered bronze coins and their three crude daggers (including the one currently embedded in the first thug's leg). Using more torn strips from their own rough clothing, ignoring the growing pile of rags near his feet, Ren bound their hands and feet securely. He worked with detached efficiency, his movements economical and precise. He reinforced the pressure bandage on the bleeding thigh and applied similar makeshift bandages to the big man's arm cuts .
The spreading pool of blood near the first thug was a liability. Leaving them here, even bound, was risky. With considerable effort, given his younger frame, Ren dragged the three unconscious bodies deeper into the narrowest, darkest branch of the alley – a dead-end alcove littered with damp debris , effectively hidden from any casual passersby. He arranged them against the far wall, ensuring they remained bound. Then he settled down a short distance away on a relatively clean crate, the captured daggers laid out neatly beside him. The incongruous plastic bag with his otherworldly snacks rested near his feet. He waited, his face an unreadable mask of calm, his mind actively processing the information gleaned from the brief, violent encounter and refining his interrogation strategy.
Time stretched, marked only by the distant, muffled sounds of the city beyond the alley mouth and the ragged breathing of his captives. They began to stir, groaning. They looked miserable, stripped of their upper garments which now served as crude bandages and bindings.
The big man woke first. His eyes fluttered open, filled with groggy confusion that quickly sharpened into stark terror as his gaze landed on Ren, sitting calmly opposite him. He instinctively tried to move, finding himself securely bound. He remembered the impossibly fast takedown, the chilling voice, the knife at his throat. Raw fear radiated from him. His eyes darted to his companions, similarly bound and half-dressed, realizing their tunics had been used to restrain them. He opened his mouth to speak, or perhaps yell, but only a muffled grunt escaped; Ren had prudently gagged them with more cloth scraps before they fully regained consciousness.
"Mhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" the big man struggled uselessly against his bonds.
Ren rose smoothly and approached him. He knelt down, picking up the stolen dagger – the big man's original knife. He didn't press it to the man's throat this time, but held it casually, letting the dim light glint off the cheap blade.
"If you cry out, yell for help, or make any unnecessary noise when I remove this," Ren said, his voice quiet, level, yet carrying an unmistakable edge of menace far beyond his apparent years, "I will silence you permanently. Nod if you understand."
The big man, sweat beading on his pale forehead despite the cool air, nodded frantically, eyes wide with terror. Ren reached forward and efficiently removed the gag. The man took several deep, shuddering breaths before finally croaking out:
"Wh-what… what are you going to do to us?"
"Wait," Ren replied calmly, gesturing slightly towards the other two who were now moaning and blinking awake. "Wait for your friends to rejoin the conversation."
He repeated the warning and ungagged the other two thugs as they regained full consciousness. Their reactions were a mixture of confusion, pain, and dawning horror.
"Wh-what is this? Why am I tied up?" one sputtered, clutching at his bandaged thigh where the dagger had been (Ren had removed it after applying the pressure bandage and before dragging them).
"Agh! My face! Gods, my nose!" the second one whimpered, gingerly touching his swollen, bloodied face.
"Hey! Untie us! You little brat! Our boss will have your head if we tell him–" the first one started, then trailed off as Ren subtly glanced towards the bound, terrified figure of their leader. Both underlings followed his gaze. Understanding dawned instantly, chilling their bluster. They were utterly defeated, their boss equally helpless. Fear replaced indignation.
Once all three were awake and comprehending their predicament, Ren reached for the crinkling plastic bag at his feet. He tore open the bag of potato chips, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence. He held out a handful of the thin, golden crisps towards the big man.
"Eat," Ren said calmly. "It will help you recover your strength."
The three men stared, bewildered. Suspicion warred with hunger and fear on their faces. None moved to accept the offered food.
Ren's expression remained neutral, but his voice dropped slightly, losing any trace of warmth. "You have two options. Eat, or I will assume you are uncooperative. Uncooperative subjects are… disposed of. Choose." The implication was crystal clear.
A frantic internal debate seemed to play out on their faces. Why give us food if he means to kill us? But he'll kill us if we don't eat? Faced with the immediate threat, primal survival instinct won. The big man cautiously leaned forward and took a chip with trembling fingers, stuffing it into his mouth. The other two hesitantly followed suit.
As they chewed, looks of surprise flickered across their faces.
"What… what is this?"
"Salty… but… tasty?"
"Yeah… yummy…"
Before they could ask for more or further comment, Ren leaned forward slightly, a faint, twisted smile touching his lips, transforming his youthful features into something unsettlingly predatory.
"Good," he said softly. "Because there was poison laced on those chips. A slow-acting neurotoxin I prepared. Quite painful in the final stages, I assure you. Without the antidote, which only I possess, you have perhaps… six hours? you will die in more painfull way… it's not a pleasant way to go."
The effect was instantaneous. The colour drained from their faces, leaving them bone-white. Terror, stark and absolute, replaced any lingering confusion or hunger. They stared at Ren as if seeing a demon cloaked in youthful innocence.
"Now," Ren continued, his voice reverting to a smooth, almost angelic tone that was somehow more terrifying than his earlier threats, "let's talk about what I need."