In man's world, only the toughest and most ruthless survive. A boy who experienced hell in the world grew up to fight for himself to reach the top of the food chain but soon learned that fighting for yourself will lead to hell sometimes.
Original St...
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A figure emerged from the crowded streets, clad in a black sleeveless hoodie jacket and sweatpants, ninja shoes making barely a sound on the pavement. Boxing wraps covered his hands, and his eyes scanned the surroundings with caution and familiarity. He kept his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his backpack weight evenly distorting across his shoulders.
As he turned a corner, the sounds of the city gave way to the eerie silence of an abandoned subway tunnel. His footsteps echoed off the grimy walls, the only sound in the desolate passageway. He walked purposefully, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The air was thick with dust and neglect.
Reaching a rusty metal door, he rapped his knuckles against the surface thrice, reverberating through the tunnel. A low, gravelly voice responded from the other side.
"Who's there?"
The figure pulled back his hood, revealing sharp features and piercing dark brown eyes. He was a young African American adult with spiky black hair. "Mark Monet," he replied, his deep voice firm.
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Mark - Age: 23 Years Old
The voice on the other side paused, then asked, "What's the password?"
Mark's gaze never wavered. "Echo-Seven-Nine."
The door creaked open, revealing a narrow corridor resembling the interior of a subway train. Mark stepped inside, his eyes scanning the signs above each door.
