The next day, Mark was walking through an alley in Barkerville when he suddenly saw several people appear in front of him. All of them were teenagers like himself, but two looked like background characters on Vikings.
"What's up, fellas and female version of fellas?" Mark asked while reaching for the dagger tucked into the back of his pants.
"Nuh-uh," he heard someone say from behind him. Mark turned and saw 7 more teens behind him, with one of them being just as buff as the two Viking extras.
"Well, shit." Mark stopped reaching for the dagger and kept his hands out of his pockets, but the sunlight flickered off his fingerless gloves, showing they were studded and ready for action. "Was the Tall-Mart your turf. Was just trying to get some quick cash." Mark explained himself while backing into a wall of the alley.
Viking Extra #3, who appeared behind him, eyes lit up when he noticed how casually Mark pretended to casually lean on the wall. He had been in enough street fights to know what was happening. 'He's keeping his back from being exposed, so even if we jump him, he can see us all coming. Erica was right. This kid is smart.'
"Whole town is our turf, kid. Question is what you're doing in it?" #3 asked while the rest of the teens closed in. Mark casually kept his right hand relaxed on the wall, ready to reach for his dagger the moment someone got too close.
"Not much. Bit away from home. Trying to get a little further. Name is Caleb." Mark eyed the supposed leader enough to pretend he wasn't clocking the guy who pulled out a knife behind #3. "If you got any jobs you need handled and enough cash for some bus fare, can help you guys out a bit. Looking at that scrawny, rat-faced bastard, you might need it."
"What did you say!?!" Rat-face pulled out his knife and closed in on Mark while pointing it at his face. But before he could get within a foot, Mark grabbed the arm holding the knife and pulled it away before giving two quick jabs with his right hand before delivering a straight. When his barrage was done, the only thing keeping Rat-face from collapsing on the ground was Mark holding his unconscious body up by the arm.
Mark shook Rat-face's arm to see if he was really out and shrugged his shoulder before letting the guy fall to the floor. "Seriously, Rat-face? If you're gonna pull out a knife, don't just wave it around someone like me. Save that for kids and pregnant ladies. Either stab right away or get knocked out."
The other members all reached for their weapons but #3 stepped forward, his expression unreadable.
"Not bad, but not everyone is soft like Rat-face in our crew," #3 warned him. "We don't need muscle. We need smart guys. So how smart of it was for you to knock out one of our boys in front of 13 of us?"
Mark smirked. "Considering that I'm still standing, must have been worth at least a C if I was in school. So you got a job or not?"
#3 smirked a little. "I like you. Not your mouth, talk too much for my liking. But at least what you say is decent and you can back it up. Got a phone?"
Mark shook his head and hurried to catch a phone that was just tossed to him by #3.
"Now ya do. We got a piece of shit trying to push some of his shit on our turf. His address is 22 Hilda Street. Teach him a lesson but make sure you don't connect it to us. Text the number saved in there when you're done," #3 gave him specific orders while two others picked up Rat-face. The group walked out of the alley in the same direction Mark entered from.
Mark shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the alley to make his way to the nearest burger place. It was the middle of the day, and he wasn't about to do anything during the day.
Mark looked around the restaurant while waiting for the pretty hostess who brought him a menu and guided him to a seat in the back. After making his order, Mark didn't even have to wait 5 minutes until he had a plate of fries before him.
Mark poured a large puddle of ketchup on his fries before devouring them. The people at the tables nearest to Mark got up and moved to a different spot.
"Got a job," Mark spoke quietly, a teen on the other side of the wall being the only one to hear him between bites.
Mark watched the hostess who gave him his seat walk toward another guest, keeping him out of her sight, so he got up and walked out the door when he finished all his fries, not leaving. The hostess noticed Mark while he was walking out the door but assumed he left the cash on the table and a generous tip.
Later that night on Hilda Street, Mark walked down the path while stumbling over his feet. He could barely stand without stumbling over himself, but fell every few steps. Once Mark had finally had enough, he leaned over a small fence to let his head steady itself.
A man in his 30s saw Mark leaning over the fence with a green face and walked down the steps of 22 Hilda Street. "Hey, kid. You can't rest..." but before he could finish, he was flipped over the fence to his back with the last thing he saw being a studded glove.
Mark stopped pretending to be drunk and reached for the man's waistband to snatch his gun and put it in his waistband. He then hopped over the small fence and walked like a... well, like an arsonist about to set fire to a drug dealer's trap house.
Mark snuck up to the basement window and saw that all the lights were off. He pulled out the burner and turned on the flashlight to check if anyone was down there, but he saw nothing other than a few duffle bags and suitcases that were closed, but it was easy to imagine that's where the dealer kept his cash and supply.
'Guess you're gonna regret being one of those weirdos that finish their basement and don't just leave it as they find it,' Mark pulled out his dagger and propped open the window before pulling out a glass bottle with a rag sticking out from his jacket.
He lit it with a lighter and threw it onto the table that had all the bags. The table and carpet quickly caught fire. Mark waited several seconds while watching the fire consume the room before he heard screams from inside the house.
Mark took that as his sign to escape while the dealer and whoever was with him went to see the basement. By the time they realized their supplies and cash were already burned to a crisp, Mark was outside the fence. And by the time they ran out of the house, Mark had already turned off the street.