Look Me in the Eyes (and tell me that it's me) [Zhongchili]

Chapter 23 - Paths Chosen

Ajax hits the streets with a vengeance. He's methodical, planning out his routes from start to finish, focusing on the most common roads that the ordinary folk take to get where they need to go—a path from the apartments to the school, to the university, to the grocery shops—and each night he sets out to carve out a river of safety for folks to travel along.

Before, he was willing to go to the Fatui, to leave the work he started here to law enforcement, or to any low level grunts the Fatui saw fit to oversee the area.

But then those assholes hurt Yoimiya.

Now it's personal.

It's easy, far too easy, particularly when his Vision flickers to life, allowing him a small advantage over his targets—a slippery grate here, a splash of water to the face there—and he relishes in every glorious moment when his opponents either lie defeated, swearing never to cause trouble again, or flee in terror, unable to comprehend the prowess of the combatant facing them.

His exploits don't go unnoticed. Not to law enforcement, no—they couldn't give two shits about what business filthy commoners like him get up to—but among the underbelly of Snezhnaya. Ill-doers learn to avoid the areas Ajax's frequents, taking their business elsewhere in the city, and for the first week or so, Ajax revels in this new development. This is what he wanted. The major routes along the streets are safe, and the common folk soon learn this, beginning to retake their freedoms: an old man hobbles along the street to buy his smokes after dark; a young woman pops out to the shops to return with a bag of flour, perhaps for an impromptu midnight baking session; and a child plays on the streets with her friends, tossing pebbles along the pavement slabs to play hopscotch upon them.

For the first week, Ajax is proud.

The week after, Ajax grows bored.

There's no one to fight, no enemies to grow stronger against, and his hands twitch with the primal need to deliver their crushing blows of justice.

So Ajax finds a new occupation.

The university year is over, but the student bars on campus remain open for the holidaying students to enjoy. With no classes to concern them and only a handful having found summer jobs, the post-midnight hours find the campus area teeming with students fighting with rush hour taxi rates, seeking to return home to all parts of the city.

It's a prime opportunity for Ajax.

He doesn't ask for payment, which makes his offer all the more enticing to the students who've just spent half their student loan on alcohol, and he seeks out the most vulnerable students attempting to travel to the riskiest areas of town offering his simple service of having a friend to walk by their side.

The criminals in these parts of town don't know Ajax and, much to his delight, have no qualms about trying to take on a slight young man and a five foot young lady attempting to travel through their territory. It's so simple. It's so beautifully simple. For the most part, he acts naturally, making small talk with his clients, smiling, laughing, and looking perfectly normal to any outsider. Then, when they're inevitably approached, the would-be muggers meet the real Ajax.

There's an artistry in how their joints crack when he takes their arm and twists it behind their back, how the blood sprays from their noses as his fist connects with their face, painting the evidence of their misdoings upon the ground. He's a child with a paintbrush, flicking flecks of red across the pavement, creating a beautiful illustration demonstrating the bounds of his strength, and as his artistry grows, so does his prowess, his Vision a little more responsive, his punches a little faster, a little more forceful.

Ajax's clients, while often shocked at first, are grateful for his help, and are more than happy to turn a blind eye if, when the battle is over, a wad of cash happens to slip from one of the losers' pockets, and if Ajax happens to pick up that wad of cash, mistaking it for his own. It's a very easy mistake to make, after all.