Post by Bryce Logan on Jun 8, 2016 18:44:26 GMT
[Note: Sorry for the ridiculous amount of text you can't really reply to anyway, but I just got really carried away 
]
No action that follows a thought like 'what could possibly go wrong?' is going to end well. This is the type of knowledge most people possess, common knowledge, if you will. But there are always exceptions.
And Bryce Logan was one of those exceptions.
Because there was a fair chance that not many people on this planet had an amount of stupid things done to their name larger than his. And that was without alcohol being involved.
It was late, around ten in the evening, maybe a bit later, he wasn't entirely sure. His shift at the bar/club he worked at had neared it's end and he put on his coat as he stepped outside. Deb, who was just coming in for work, greeted him in passing as he left through the backdoor and she entered.
It was a very chilly night and he put his hands in his pockets. He took a right turn into an alleyway to take a shortcut to his apartment - being a fairly muscular and somewhat tall lad, Bryce wasn't too worried about walking through such streets on his own, although it took a lot in general to really worry him - and stepped around dirt and waste with an ease that showed this was his regular route.
He was about to take another right turn when from the alley to the left he heard a shout coming. He froze for a moment, but then hurried into the direction the sound had come from. A man was pressed against the dirty wall, a knife at his throat, his eyes wide with fear. The person holding the knife was threatening him with all sorts of unpleasant things, unless the man paid up. Bryce vaguely recognized the asshole doing the threatening and made up his mind.
See, this was where a sensible person would've already backed off into the darkness and have called the cops. But Bryce was not sensible, so he stepped forward.
"Back off, mate," he said, with the confidence of someone who had clearly never been stabbed in the throat. Or anywhere else, for that matter. The guy holding the knife looked up, startled.
"Or else?" he asked, almost challenging.
"Or else I'm calling the cops on you. Or just beat the crap out of you, your pick, man," Bryce answered with more bravado than befitting of the situation. The man lowered the knife and shoved his victim out of the way, who hastily ran off, after which he turned to Bryce, who was starting to slowly see the flaws in what had seemed earlier like a perfectly good idea. Knife. Unprotected Bryce. Knife. Bryce. Knife. Poor life choices. Knife.
Fuck.
The other grinned.
"You ain't calling anyone, buddy," he said softly. He whistled. Behind him, seemingly out of nowhere, two other men appeared. Bryce' mouth felt dry. Three guys and a knife. It was pretty clear to him now that if this came to violence, he was fucked. He would bleed out on the sidewalk like a pig. His heart was racing.
"I think you're wrong there," he answered, hoping a fearless attitude would scare them off. "Who says they're not already on their way?"
They laughed. And that was Bryce's cue to finally use his brain properly and run like a bitch. And they followed. For a moment Bryce considered heading back to the club, but that would mean deliberately endangering the rest.
So he just ran. He ran like he hadn't run in a very long time. The alleyways in this part of the centre were like a maze, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to lose them, though the distance seemed to increase.
He ran into a dead end, but the wall at the end wasn't too high and with some difficulty, he managed to climb over it, though the voices of his pursuers were closing in again. He took a sharp right turn, into a street that was a lot broader, but nearly empty as well, except for one man, seemingly in his early thirties. Bryce did not hesitate and ran up to him.
"Dude- dude I need your help," he blurted out, breathing heavily. His sides ached, but the adrenaline was what kept him on his feet. "I'm being chased down by the guys - one has a knife - please, man, you gotta help me out!" he pleaded. He looked over his shoulder quickly and could only hope they had enough trouble with that wall for him to find a way out of this mess. If only he could hide somewhere indoor, he'd probably be safe for a while.
He looked back at the man, hoping he could help.
]No action that follows a thought like 'what could possibly go wrong?' is going to end well. This is the type of knowledge most people possess, common knowledge, if you will. But there are always exceptions.
And Bryce Logan was one of those exceptions.
Because there was a fair chance that not many people on this planet had an amount of stupid things done to their name larger than his. And that was without alcohol being involved.
It was late, around ten in the evening, maybe a bit later, he wasn't entirely sure. His shift at the bar/club he worked at had neared it's end and he put on his coat as he stepped outside. Deb, who was just coming in for work, greeted him in passing as he left through the backdoor and she entered.
It was a very chilly night and he put his hands in his pockets. He took a right turn into an alleyway to take a shortcut to his apartment - being a fairly muscular and somewhat tall lad, Bryce wasn't too worried about walking through such streets on his own, although it took a lot in general to really worry him - and stepped around dirt and waste with an ease that showed this was his regular route.
He was about to take another right turn when from the alley to the left he heard a shout coming. He froze for a moment, but then hurried into the direction the sound had come from. A man was pressed against the dirty wall, a knife at his throat, his eyes wide with fear. The person holding the knife was threatening him with all sorts of unpleasant things, unless the man paid up. Bryce vaguely recognized the asshole doing the threatening and made up his mind.
See, this was where a sensible person would've already backed off into the darkness and have called the cops. But Bryce was not sensible, so he stepped forward.
"Back off, mate," he said, with the confidence of someone who had clearly never been stabbed in the throat. Or anywhere else, for that matter. The guy holding the knife looked up, startled.
"Or else?" he asked, almost challenging.
"Or else I'm calling the cops on you. Or just beat the crap out of you, your pick, man," Bryce answered with more bravado than befitting of the situation. The man lowered the knife and shoved his victim out of the way, who hastily ran off, after which he turned to Bryce, who was starting to slowly see the flaws in what had seemed earlier like a perfectly good idea. Knife. Unprotected Bryce. Knife. Bryce. Knife. Poor life choices. Knife.
Fuck.
The other grinned.
"You ain't calling anyone, buddy," he said softly. He whistled. Behind him, seemingly out of nowhere, two other men appeared. Bryce' mouth felt dry. Three guys and a knife. It was pretty clear to him now that if this came to violence, he was fucked. He would bleed out on the sidewalk like a pig. His heart was racing.
"I think you're wrong there," he answered, hoping a fearless attitude would scare them off. "Who says they're not already on their way?"
They laughed. And that was Bryce's cue to finally use his brain properly and run like a bitch. And they followed. For a moment Bryce considered heading back to the club, but that would mean deliberately endangering the rest.
So he just ran. He ran like he hadn't run in a very long time. The alleyways in this part of the centre were like a maze, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to lose them, though the distance seemed to increase.
He ran into a dead end, but the wall at the end wasn't too high and with some difficulty, he managed to climb over it, though the voices of his pursuers were closing in again. He took a sharp right turn, into a street that was a lot broader, but nearly empty as well, except for one man, seemingly in his early thirties. Bryce did not hesitate and ran up to him.
"Dude- dude I need your help," he blurted out, breathing heavily. His sides ached, but the adrenaline was what kept him on his feet. "I'm being chased down by the guys - one has a knife - please, man, you gotta help me out!" he pleaded. He looked over his shoulder quickly and could only hope they had enough trouble with that wall for him to find a way out of this mess. If only he could hide somewhere indoor, he'd probably be safe for a while.
He looked back at the man, hoping he could help.
]