[Revised]

Max stood motionlessly on the side of the road. His body remained frigid while his head mechanically turned from left to right, his eyes impassively scanning the passing vehicles. With a gloved thumb, he subconsciously stroked the blank screen of his phone as he waited for the buzzing of an incoming call. It was passed four in the morning, and his ride still hadn't bothered to show up, despite the fact that he had called for it a little more than a half hour ago.

Could my father's employees be any more useless? 

The nocturnal arctic breeze enveloped Max. It nipped at the parts of his flesh that weren't covered by his sweater and left behind goose-bumps across his arms and neck, which quickly propagated themselves to the rest of his body like seismic waves in an earthquake. A deep shudder soon followed the initial tremors, and he tilted his head back, his hands clenching into fists as he dug them into his pockets.

After he recomposed himself, pocketed his bandana and lifted his wrist to his gaze, with the intent to check the time. Then he remembered that he had left his Rolex back at the apartment so that it wouldn't get in the way of attacking his target.

Zara hadn't been easy to pin down, despite the information handed to Max from his father's men. In fact, he managed to get her alone just by pure luck. She was like a bar of soap, elusive and impossible to hold in place without sheer willpower and brute force. No amount of intel had helped him; knowing her parents birth and death, her workplace, and her favourite desert wasn't what led him to following her into that alley.

A nobody at school, a skilled-thief at night. Who would've fucking thought. 

"Hey, you!" A voice tore him out of his thoughts.

Max slowly turned his head towards the disturbance.

Four figures rose from the shadows, materialising into four men with buzz cuts. Max immediately associated the voice with the guy in the middle, who walked ahead of the others with an air of confidence about him. He had several drawings tattooed across his face and neck and piercings that marred his features. The ones behind him closely followed his steps like lost puppies, careful to maintain a respectful distance between themselves and their leader.

A gang.

This should be fun.

Max twisted his torso from left to right, feigning stupidity, "Who, me?" He asked, knowing very well that there was no one else besides him on that street. The man easily swallowed Max's hook, line, and sinker. As expected.

"We caught a big one, guys," he sneered, turning to his companions. They forcibly laughed at what was supposed to be a joke, flanking him when he stopped a metre away from Max.

"I'm sorry, am I missing something?" Max inquired sarcastically, wanting an excuse to beat the plebe's face into a pulp.

"Yes, you are, idiot. What are you doing in our territory?"

"Your territory? I didn't see your piss anywhere," Max countered, a smirk on his face. The man's eyes widened into golf-balls, and the other guys took a step towards Max.

"What did you say to me, punk?" He pulled out a switch-knife from his pocket, flicking the blade into view as he walked until he was just a few centimetres away from Max. The others also pulled out their toys.

The fool was considerably shorter than Max, about a head, so he had to tilt his head back to look up at him. Max was a moment away from laughing in his face at how pathetic he was being, thinking that a bunch of pocket knives would be of any threat to him, but he decided to continue playing.

"I thought dogs were supposed to be smart animals," Max sighed, shaking his head. The three musketeers immediately took offence for their leader and lunged at him, but the boss stopped them with an arm. "I suggest you keep your poodles on a leash, big guy. They might get hurt."

A kid from the back veered around from Mr Tattoo face and threw himself at Max, a hand with a bat raised over his head. Max took a step backwards into his fighting stance, giving his attacker enough time to make his way towards him. Just when he was about to swing, Max used his forearm to deflect the action, pulling his fist back and smashing it into the kid's jaw. He stumbled backwards in a daze, but returned in a flurry of limbs, determination taking the better of his sanity.

This was the cue for the others to begin their advancements.

The other two minions approached Max from his right while their leader came galloping towards him in the middle. The gangster on the far right tried to swing his fist at Max while the other attempted to jab his victim in the gut. Max ducked, missing the swing, and used his weight to elbow the guy in the ribs.

After he straightened, he swung an uppercut to the man's chin. The first kid came screaming at him again, but Max immediately disarmed him and kneed him in the gut, using his elbow again to slam him to the ground.

Suddenly, Max felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder.

Roaring in pain and anger, he swivelled to see the leader unarmed, as his knife was firmly latched into Max's shoulder. Max didn't think twice to rip the knife out of it and drive it into the guy's chest, hand around his neck. The guy shuddered violently, then his eyelashes fluttered as he went limp in Max's grip, deceased.

Max flung the corpse onto the ground, then trudged towards the others. One of them was lying face down on the ground, while one was against the wall, clutching his body, and the other was slowly trying to escape the scene.

No survivors.

Max took two long strides towards him, then grabbed him by the collar and pulled him towards him. With a punch to his temple, he was knocked out permanently. Then, he walked towards the impaled corpse, pulled out the knife and trudged towards the guy coughing against the wall. Max's eyes were green with venom.

"Please, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..." he didn't finish his sentence that Max swiped the knife across his jugular, leaving him gurgling and gasping for air.

Max was about to kill the last guy as well but had to first find out whether their appearance had been staged or simply a coincidence. He crouched down and flipped the guy over onto his back, lifting him up by his collar. His head lolled to one side, as he was on the verge of unconsciousness, but Max used his hand to turn his bruised jaw towards him.

Under the bruises and tattoos, the kid looked like he wasn't older than sixteen, seventeen. Eighteen at most. Max almost felt pity for him. But he couldn't let him live, not unless he wanted to be reported to a possible enemy.

"Who sent you?" Max said bluntly, bringing the kid closer to his face. His shoulder was protesting at the strain, but that was to be dealt with later. Right now, he needed answers.

The kid's eyes fluttered open, then back shut, his breathing strained. Max repeated his question, more forcefully this time, "Who sent you?!"

"I'll never tell you," he whispered, his eyebrows furrowing together. Not wanting to waste any more time than he already had, Max pulled out his knife, bringing it up to his face. He knew that this kid wouldn't fare well with torture, he could tell by the remounted fear in his eyes at the sight of the weapon, so it wouldn't take too much effort to squeeze out information.

"You better start singing, canary, before you end up like your friends. And trust me, it won't take too much," Max chuckled venomously, sliding the flat of the blade against the kid's neck.

"Jaguars! Jaguars! Please, I beg you, don't kill me!" He started to cry like a baby, tears rolling down his cheeks.

The Jaguars. One of the most well-known Mexican gangs in New York City.

At some point, their leader had attempted to have some sort of business relationship with Maximilian's father, but things hadn't gone too well. Did these guys know who he was? Probably not, but it didn't matter. They were all dead.

Except this guy. But he'll join his buddies soon.

"You're pitiful. I'll do your boss a favour and kill you for him."

Renewed cries for forgiveness rang, but Max tuned them out, reaching down to wrap both hands around the boy's neck. Suddenly, a vicious smile crept onto Max's face, and he let go, pulling away to rest his forearm on his knee-cap.

"By the way," he began, the fear in the child's eyes only partially satisfying his sadistic urges, "Tell Top Dawg to enjoy his time in hell while he can, 'cause when I come, shit is going to go down."

One punch. That's all it took.

-:-