Survival of the Unfit

Chapter 2

Levi

“Listen, I’m not looking for a fight,” I told him, surveying my surroundings. Abandoned alley, not the best arena. It’s also ten o’clock. Also, I can barely see anything much nonetheless Harrison. Fucking Harrison.

“Really? Because you’ve got your fists up, you idiot.”

“Because I know you have a knife on you, dipshit. You’re not killing me.”

Harrison snorted. “Like I’d want your stupid pretty boy eye color.”

I clenched my fists harder, tighter, and smiled. “They might get you a date.”

That was the last straw for him. I got out my own switchblade and we both went at it, punching and dodging and slicing air. He was surprisingly nimble for an overweight senator’s son with a last name worth gold, but I had done this too many times before.

He tried a crazy right hook that I easily ducked for, landing a square punch on his chubby face. I didn’t even think it hurt him, it was such a squishy experience, but he cried out like a baby and tried to staunch his bleeding nose. I wiped my own off and marched towards him, shoving him against the alley’s brick, graffitied wall and putting the switchblade up to his neck.

“C’mon man, I was joking, please,” Harrison pleaded, on the verge of tears. I didn’t let up.

“Who and when.”

“But—“

“Who and when, Harrison, I need to know NOW!” I slammed him against the wall, digging the knife in just enough for a scare.

“I don’t know! I don’t know, I don’t know, please don’t kill me.” Harrison started to sniff and whimper. “All I can do is eat 16 hot dogs in five minutes, I swear that’s my best trait.”

I paused, digging the knife in for a fraction of a second, fear registering in his eyes, and figured I was hearing the truth. Dropping him, I wiped my nose, now discouraged and disappointed. “I’d never kill you,” I said quietly, turning around and putting my hands above my head for a deep breath. “You’re not worth my time.”

Harrison continued whimpering, frustrated thoughts filtering back into my mind. Well…what now? I didn’t have any suspects left. I had no leads. I had no evidence of anything, except I knew it was going to happen. It was going to happen, and I had to stop it. New kids are extremely vulnerable targets.

I heard Harrison shuffle and stand back up, voice strangely steady once again. “What if I was the killer, though. What would you do?”

“Shut up,” I snapped, waving him off. “I’m trying to think.”

There was a deathly click, and then something pushing into my back. I could smell the blood and sweat and almost feel the cold metal through my jacket and shirt combined, through the sweat down my back as well. “Game’s over, Levi.”

Course the rich kid has a gun. How could I be so dumb.

Harrison laughed maniacally. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be you. Going around, doing justice work, saving people’s lives and whatnot. Going to school as a regular kid, putting on this little show of yours to convince everyone you’re America’s sweetheart. And then in the evening, Mr. Nightman comes out.”

“Clever,” I interrupted, focused on making minimal movements, undetectable shifts of weight. “Really, I’m impressed with the name. Mind if I keep it? Tattoo it on my ass, maybe?”

Harrison got obnoxiously close to my ear, disregarding my comment. “And you put on this stupid leather jacket of yours—“ he jabbed the gun into my back, heart skipping a beat, “—and ride around town like you’re such a heroic badass. It ends tonight, you hear? I—“