I didn’t have time to think. I just raised my arms and moved into my best impression of a boxing stance. Just because I was capable of violence didn’t mean I was trained for it. I played sports in high school: football, wrestling, and rugby. I picked up weightlifting in university. But I found out after the first few seconds what it felt like to face a trained fighter. Clearly, my first punch was lucky. It was everything I could do just to keep my guard up. He came at me with a flurry of punches that I could barely keep my guard protecting my head. Then he feinted for a headshot before landing a hook into my gut that made me double forward as I lost my breath. I remembered at the second to protect my face as I saw his knee come up.

  I managed to catch it, but he still blew my hands into my face as I stood back up. I wanted to catch my breath, but the man gave me no quarter. I felt my knees buckle, and he saw that I was wobbly. He reached back for a haymaker, and I could tell he thought I was done. I thought I was too, until I heard Bento bark behind me and bite at the man’s ankle. Grimacing at the supposed interruption, I saw him change target from me to Bento. Fury enveloped my body at the sight.

  I dug deep and charged. Without thinking I performed a picture-perfect dump tackle on the man and landed my shoulder into his gut with my full body weight on the landing. Without thinking I proceeded to get a full mount on the man and did my best impression of a ground and pound.

  “Stop. Trying. To. Hit. My. DOG!” I shouted between my punches.

  Bento barked again and without thinking I rolled off the man right as one of his allies tried to kick where my head was a second before. Panting, I looked up to see his buddy pull a knife out of his pocket. My eyes widened in alarm as he took a swipe at me. I just barely managed to get out of the way by crab walking back and scrambling to my feet.

  In the seconds it took me to stand, he swiped at me again, and I instinctively raised my arms to receive a slice on my left arm. I hissed in pain, and he lunged forward with a thrust. I shuffled out of the way, but it was a feint and received killer kick to my leg instead. My leg gave out and I fell to my knee. Bento appeared back in front of me, growling at my attacker. My assailant made to stab him with his knife and I didn’t hesitate. I roughly shoved Bento out of the way, and I felt pain explode in my shoulder. Before I could register the pain properly, I punched the man in the nuts. He doubled over crying, leaving the knife stuck in me, and I knew he would be stuck there for a while.

  Slowly, I struggled back to my feet, glaring at the last person left in this trio. He hadn’t moved the entire time the other two were attacking me, nor did he say anything yet. He simply stood there watching me with what felt like an evaluating gaze. Then I saw him pull out a gun. He was too far for me to reach him, not that I would know how to wrestle a gun out of his hands, especially with my body beaten and broken as it is. Even so, Bento was still there ready to go growling at the now armed gunman. I looked around to find a way out that wouldn’t get me killed. Things had been moving so quickly I never had a chance to re-evaluate the situation.

  The first attacker was getting up and looked ready for round 3. The man I had punched in the balls was still at my feet groaning. And the third had just pulled a gun and was about to aim at me. I had so many questions in my mind about how I ended up about to get killed. But the cold certainty of death provided a certain kind of clarity that stopped that train of thought before it could get going. I could wonder about that all I want if I lived. And I definitely still wanted to do that. So, I did the only thing I could come up with. I kicked the guy at my feet to roll around onto his back and slammed my knee down on his head.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  By the time I was down, the gunman was aiming at me.

  “You shoot me, I’ll kill this man,” I stated as calmly as possible.

  The man I punched snorted. “As if, how exactly are you gonna do that with a bullet in your head?”

  I knew I was really going to have to sell this, but I was dreading this part. I tore the knife out of my shoulder and pressed it to the neck of the man I had pinned. I wanted to scream but I did my best to hold eye contact with the gunman. I was going to have to work hard to sell this through the pain that left me dizzy. I smirked at them.

  “With the knife that he so graciously left me obviously.”

  “You’re bluffing,” he said.

  The gunman remained quiet throughout this entire exchange. My mind clued in somewhere in the distance that I couldn’t hear Bento growling anymore either. But I refused to break eye contact with the gunman. I didn’t respond. Just pressed the knife harder into the neck of the man under me.

  “What have I got left to lose at this point? I let him go you’ll likely kill me. Or I at least take one of you with me and make a way bigger mess of all this,” I said as calmly as possible.

  The tableau held for a moment longer before an applaud broke the stillness of the night. I looked over to find Oscar clapping with Bento sitting passively besides him.

  “I think that’s enough of that. Very well done young man,” he said.

  I stayed kneeling, my jaw unhinged, frozen. Then I heard shuffling and saw the gunman putting away his weapon, while the other suddenly changed to a very relaxed posture.

  “You mind?” He said, gesturing to my knife on the neck of the man I still had pinned below me.

  Numbly, I fell back on my butt. I stared at the knife in my hand and threw it away and stared aghast at the people around me. Bento came up and gently nudged me with his nose. I instinctively started petting him, more for my own comfort than his. I could feel bile rising in the back of my throat and did my best to hold it down while my arm was still throbbing in pain from the stab and slice wounds I received earlier.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I asked aloud to no one in particular.

  “Hmmm, before I answer that, why don’t we get a little more comfortable,” I heard Oscar say.

  “I’ve been stabbed,” I stated.

  “Yes, I can see that,” he replied.

  “How can I possibly get comfortable in this situation?” I questioned incredulously.

  “It’s only a scratch, but I can see how it might get in the way of comfort,” he replied as casually as though we were discussing a piece of furniture. “Would you like me to fix it?”

  “What?”

  Without clarifying, he approached and pulled a plain water bottle out of his pocket. Then he paused, his gaze alternating between me and the bottle.

  “If I give this to you, will you drink from it?”

  “You want me to drink a random liquid from a homeless man after being attacked by three random people with a knife and held at gunpoint?” I questioned in return.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” he stated.

  He then knelt beside me and before I realized what was going on, he pulled my head back and poured out the contents of the bottle into my mouth which was already open out of sheer shock. I tried to spit it out but ended up spluttering and swallowing more than I spat. Suddenly my arm didn’t hurt anymore and neither did the rest of my body. I also felt darkness creeping in around the edges of my vision and my eyelids feeling particularly heavy.

  “What the fuck is going on...” I slurred before I fell backwards onto the ground and everything faded to black. The last thing I felt was Bento’s fur still soft in my hand.