Believe it or not… I’ve never been in a (fist) fight.
No… I’m not a wussy. I’ve just never been in the situation. I like to think that my demeanor leads me to be the peacemaker more often than not.
But I’ve played out an entire scenario in my mind as if it was happening right before me. It goes a little something like this:
I had made my way down the dark alley to try and shave a few minutes off the clock in an effort to get to work on time. Before I could make it to the light at the other end of the alley, I was surrounded by seven shady looking dudes.
“Gimme your money”, belched the immensely fat ringleader whose massive face was adorned with a tribal tattoo, “Better yet, give us yo money and them fancy shoes you got!”
Several of the other gang-members lightly prodded me with their steel pipes and iron tubing all the while cackling at their newest catch of the day.
If only they had known what they were getting themselves into.
I quickly snatched one of the steel pipes that had been poking me for the last several seconds. In one fluid chopping motion I forcefully laid claim to the skull of one of the gang-members. Surprisingly, I clocked him atop his skull with such force, that his body began to separate into two pieces as if he were a vertically standing stick of butter being sliced in half by a samurai sword.
A mere second after I’d snatched the pipe… one gang-member had officially become two gang-members. The only thing holding his left and right gang-member parts together were the jeans he’d been wearing far below his waste-line. The blunt, rounded steel pipe could not cut through denim after making its way through human flesh and bone while bouncing off vital organs.
One down, six to go.
“Pauley V!” yelled the dude standing next to him. “You’re going to pay for what you did to Pauley!” and he ran directly at me with his head lowered as if he were a battering ram.
I simply punched the top of this guy’s head and without much effort at all, telescoped his head inside the inner-workings of his rib cage.
Two down, five to go.
The other gang-members, sensing their rapidly diminishing group, decided to attack me in a much more formulated manner. Three rushed me and I was forced to take the brunt of a few kicks and punches. While two held me back, the third punched me about my person.
Gaining confidence at their ability to kick my ass, they made a costly mistake: they loosened their grip.
Given this advantage, I quickly reached inside the laughing mouth of the tool that had been punching me, grabbed his brain and ripped it back out through his mouth.
Three down, four to go.
Before the brain I was holding could stop pulsating, the two thugs who had held me down reached into their pants and pulled out their revolvers.
Noticing the immediate danger of this, I grabbed one of the steel tubes that had used to previously prod me and bent it into a “U” shape. As the shots were fired, I effectively caught the incoming bullets inside the tube which consequently turned the bullets around on the shooters. They both fell to the dirty alley floor having shot each other in the face.
Five down, two to go.
Sensing this fight to be a losing battle, the face-tattooed ring leader started to run down the alley while saying “Shadrack… kill him so I can get away!!”
Shadrack appeared to be rather large, muscular Amazonian woman.
“Now it time to finish this silly game,” she said in broken English.
Shadrack then picked up an entire dumpster full of trash like it was nothing more than a bowl of cereal and tried so smash me with it. With moves I learned while in the British Special Forces, I slid between her legs as she smashed the dumpster to the ground with such force it sent cracks deviating from the area the dumpster landed. As she picked up the dumpster again and turned around for round two, I put all my force behind a roundhouse kick that sent her knee in the opposite direction of the way it normally bends. As her knee continued to bend in this unnatural way, the weight of the dumpster helped shatter the femur and tibia en route to blowing the kneecap clean out of her shredded skin like a frisbee.
She screamed a scream I can only closely relate to a baboon scream and fell to the ground. The dumpster fell on her head and smashed it like a ripe cantaloupe. “Seeds” and roughage splattered the side walls of the alleyway.
Six down, one to go.
The tattooed ring-leader of this newly minted “one man gang” was now near the end of the alleyway and about to make his escape from getting handed a one way ticket to hell.
I once again grabbed another steel tube, this one still straight, not bent. Once upon a time, I had thrown javelin for the US Olympic team… but that had been a while… and I wasn’t trying to hit a moving target.
Before “Face Tattoo” could break into the light that separated the alley way from everything representing his freedom from me, I slung the steel tube with such force I could have sworn I tore something in my throwing arm. The hollow tube whistled through the air and quickly found its mark. It penetrated the ring-leaders back, right between his shoulder blades and made its way through the fat man’s person and produced a few feet of tube protruding through his chest.
He stopped several feet short of the light, turned around and looked at me. He grabbed the tube and slowly and agonizingly pulled the tube from his body. When the tube was extracted, a “core sample” of himself fell out of the tube and onto the ground. Several inches of back fat, spinal cord, heart and sternum bone fell out of the tube and landed perfectly formed as you might see before you cut some Pillsbury sugar cookie dough from the grocery store.
Looked something like this… except without the wrapper, chocolate chips and sugary after-taste….
“Who… are… you?” he managed to say before collapsing on his core sample.
I shrugged my shoulders and laughed, “My name’s Phoenix… Phoenix Blade”.
Then I went to work… I got in trouble for being a couple minutes late.
Or something like that.