#003. The Boy on the Scrap Heap (3)
“I came because of the commotion.”
A low, chilling voice cut through the air.
A man’s silhouette materialized in the flash of lightning—clean-shaven scalp, a towering 190-centimeter frame packed with muscle.
Ray knew him.
Humfrey, a lieutenant of Hector’s gang.
Though they’d never faced each other directly, Ray had glimpsed that hulking figure from afar multiple times.
“H-Humfrey, sir!”
“Pathetic. Struggling over a single rat.”
Ray’s elbow shot forward, driving deep into Humfrey’s solar plexus.
Thud!
The impact felt like striking solid stone. Ray instantly knew his attack had failed. This enemy operated on an entirely different plane.
Whoosh—!
Ray twisted away from the descending grip.
“…Agile, I’ll admit.”
Humfrey’s voice remained detached, devoid of exertion. Yet his arm lashed out with impossible speed.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Ray focused solely on evasion. Even reading Humfrey’s mana flow couldn’t compensate for such blistering movements.
Pupils dilated. Blood burned. Muscles twitched.
Though his mind stayed calm, his body screamed primal warnings. One misstep meant death.
Running was the logical choice.
But the exit lay too far. Escaping Humfrey’s onslaught proved equally impossible.
Thud! Thud!
More strikes to the solar plexus during dodges. No reaction.
He needed an opening.
Only Humfrey’s momentary lapse could provide it.
Crack!
Ray’s fist flew toward the same target. At the last instant, his palm splayed open—a tiny flame blossomed against Humfrey’s diaphragm.
“Ghk!”
The searing pain made Humfrey falter. Ray exploded into motion toward the gaping doorway.
Swoooosh—
Darkness enveloped the world. Barbed wire barred the wall’s crest. The gate’s padlock gleamed in the rain.
‘Then—’
Ray’s decision crystallized. He hurled a stone at the gate.
Clang!
The metallic clangor drew gang members pouring from the warehouse.
“Gate side! The brat’s at the gate!”
“I’ll skin that cocky bastard alive!”
Stomp! Stomp!
As four pursuers charged toward the sound, Ray slipped into the warehouse and out through a pre-scouted hole.
─He’s behind the fence!
─Catch him unless you want the boss flaying us!
Distant shouts chased Ray as he scaled the muddy slope.
Squelch! Squelch!
Loose soil swallowed his boots. Upon reaching the summit, flashlights revealed figures ascending behind him.
Ray wheeled and plunged downhill.
Splash. Splash. Splash.
Rain blurred vision. Boots kicked up silver spray. Shouts pursued relentlessly.
Haa—
His exhaled breath hung steaming in the downpour. Capture meant torture followed by death. No fear stirred—only regret at failing the bridge children.
‘Without me, they’ll lose their shelter.’
Shelter mattered as much as food here. The black rain itself shortened slum kids’ lives.
“There! Grab him!”
A thug materialized ahead. Ray veered into an alley.
─There!
─Don’t lose him!
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!
The trap closed from all sides. Outrunning multiple hardened gangsters proved daunting.
Alley’s end.
A dilapidated warehouse door—Ray’s planned escape route to 17th Street.
Clank! Clank!
A new padlock mocked him. No owner yesterday... ‘Claimed already?’
Shadows fell behind him.
“Fucking... pant... rainstorm hassle...”
“Kid’s... wheeze... legs never quit...”
Three gangsters emerged through the curtain of rain. No Humfrey in sight.
...This changed things.
Ray steadied his breathing, awaiting their move.
“Just shoot his gut. Bullet ventilation’ll fix his attitude.”
“Idiot. Let the boss hear gunfire?”
Their growling debate revealed the stakes—firearms were rare in Sector 50, not to be used lightly.
Dead end. No retreat.
The lead thug brandished his knife.
“Hey runt. Hand over the goods nicely. Boss’ll kill us if inventory’s short.”
No condescension—they recognized this wasn’t some ordinary street urchin.
...
Ray stayed silent. Voice recognition could haunt him later.
His pale irises reflected the riotous mana colors swirling through their bodies—like spilled paint on canvas.
“Kid? You deaf?”
“Scared speechless?”
They crept closer.
“Grab him!”
“Fuck! Tear him apart!”
Swish!
Ray twisted from the first horizontal slash. His uppercut smashed a jaw.
“Guhk!”
“Cheeky shit!”
Another blade came from the blind spot—dodged by a hair.
Snap!
Ray seized the wrist, channeling mana into an electric surge.
Zap!
“Ggrrkk!”
Blue current raced through rain-soaked flesh. The convulsing body collapsed.
“W-what?! Stun gu— zzzt!”
Chain lightning felled the remaining two. Snaking currents danced across wet concrete.
─There! Noise came from here!
More silhouettes at the alley’s mouth. Reinforcements from the warehouse outpost.
Ray leapt onto a dumpster.
Thud! Tap!
Concrete protrusions. Rusted nails. Stepping stones to vault the 4-meter wooden wall.
Crash!
Pursuers arrived as Ray landed beyond.
“That—that crazy little—!”
“Breach it!”
Creeeak—
The wall gave way after several kicks, revealing 17th Street—Niles Gang territory.
“We... shouldn’t cross here.”
“Fuck it. Boss kills us either way. Catch him quick before Niles notices.”
One thug crossed the rubble.
“Black rain night. No witnesses, noise drowned out.”
“Drag him back fast. Before anyone—"
Gang signs exchanged. The hunt resumed under thunderous skies.
─That... brat...!
─Kill...!
Ray realized their desperation—invading rival turf meant mortal risk. Too many to fight conventionally.
‘Mana isn’t infinite.’
Returning to the bridge kids wasn’t feasible. No help would come in the slums, where curiosity killed.
‘If only Niles enforcers appeared...’
Unlikely. Their main base lay too distant through failing stamina.
Decision made. Ray pried open a dumpster lid.
Screech—
He burrowed into garbage, pulling the lid shut moments before—
Thud. Splat.
Rain drummed the metal lid as pursuers arrived.
“Damnit! Where’d he go?!”
“He came this way!”
Ray clutched a scavenged knife handle.
“Spread out. Find him before rain stops.”
“Check 15th. Gait, take 14th.”
Footsteps faded. Ray exhaled silently.
......
Long after silence fell, his grip stayed tight. They might return.
‘Must wait it out.’
Hector’s reputation for unforgiving discipline meant they’d persist till dawn.
Rustle. Rustle.
Ray settled among trash bags. The tension-drained body flooded with fatigue. Overusing magic fogged his mind.
Eyelids grew leaden.
Thud. Splat. Thud.
Rain’s rhythm became a lullaby. The garbage pile’s warmth embraced him—discarded things huddling for heat.
Like the bridge children.
Like himself, once swaddled in trash bags—his first memory of warmth.
Soon, soft snores mingled with the downpour.
Light through dumpster cracks roused Ray.
......
He’d slept. Vitality restored.
No sounds outside.
Creeak—
He emerged cautiously. Dawn’s first light (6-7 AM) revealed emptied streets. Hector’s men had retreated.
Knife in hand, Ray crept forward.
Tap.
“Knew you’d be here. Good boy coming back.”
A gaunt gangster blocked the alley mouth—sunken eyes bloodshot from nightlong pursuit.
“Knife, huh? Gonna stab me? Proper little man now.”
His own blade gleamed as he closed in.
Creak. Creak.
Ray retreated, sensing others beyond the alley.
“Die!”
The lunge came as another man materialized silently behind—pistol aimed.
Bang!
Gunfire shattered the slum’s morning
