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I could hear them. I could hear the murmurs and whispers from all the way across the car lot. Even over the sound of metal burning in a crackling fire.

I sighed when I recognised a couple of the voices making their way toward me.

"Is that him?"

"Yeah, he's the one who fucked up Degz!"

"Him? Seriously?"

I suppose I could understand the skeptisism when you look at me. I look more like some punk-ass student than someone capable of busting up some drug dealer's face.

I stand at around five-foot-nine, my body is lithe and slim, toned from running but thats about it. I'm pale-skinned and dark-haired. I had the sides of my hair shaved and the top grown and mussed.

I turned as I sat atop the burning carcass of a rundown and long-abandoned cadilac. I watched the cluster of gang-bangers with pale blue eyes. A handful of silver piercings threaded through my right ear glinted in the pale, semi-moonlight. Two through the lobe and three through the arc of the ear.

Dressed in torn denim jeans, worn in hiker boots and a ripped oversized vest with a great washed out 'Metallica' logo emblazoned on the front. A studded leather wristband finalised the punk-ass student look.

I hopped down from the cadilac's roof as the flames spread from the trunk and bonnet to spill across the hood and roof.

"Problem gentlemen?" I called.

There was about a dozen of them, all dressed in black, tattooed and with their hair shaved close to their heads. Each one was wielding some form of weapon; a baseball bat here, a chain there, one even came wielding a handgun. Typical drug-peddling style.

"Your name Jack? Jack Whyatt?" the foreman demanded.

"Maybe. Who's asking?" I replied.

"Our Degz is in the hospital because of you. Although I still don't think you did it alone."

"Remind me; whose Degz?" I asked as I threw my hands behind my head and grinned.

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Oh, I remember, he was that gang-banger doing deals in Harlot Lane."

"What of it?"

"Lets just say Degz needed to understand that Harlot Lane is out of bounds. Its a neighbourhood full of young families, retired old folks and a pre-school." I waggled a finger and added, "Bad place to do business."

Truth be told my little sister and her adoptive parents lived in Harlot Lane. The last thing they needed was a drug dealer in the neighbourhood.

Not that I'd tell the pot-heads that.

"You fucked with the wrong guy, kid!" the gang-banger grumbled.

"Kid?" I couldn't help but sound aggrivated, "I'm nineteen, fuckwit!"

"Fuck the banter! Get him!" he snarled back.

Three of the hopped up pop-heads rushed forward, the nearest stepped in close and swung back his baseball bat. He let the momentum carry the bat as he swung horizontal. I stood there and watched as it sailed toward my head.

A sickening crunch echoed throughout the car lot, silencing everyone in a heartbeat.

The druggies were flustered by what had just transpired.

The baseball-bat wielder stood in front of me holding half the baseball bat in his trembling hands. The other half of the bat had spun through the air and shattered the window of an old abandoned mustang.

There wasn't a mark on me where the bastard had smashed me with the bat. I blinked up at him and raised a hand to rub the dirt from my cheek.

"My turn?"

"W-What are you?" the drug-pusher stammered.

I grinned back and snarled, "Your worst fucking nightmare."

The fucker took a step back, worked up some balls and rushed me again, aiming to stab me with the jagged end of the broken bat. I sidestepped him with ease and wrapped my arm tight around the fucker's extended arm.

"I hope your paying attention to this."

And with that I thrust my free hand, palm-first into the guy's shoulder. A second crunch shattered throughout the car lot as the man's shoulder snapped. He screamed, a blood curdling sound that only true, agonising pain can chase up through a man's throat.

The other gang-bangers seemed stunned and frightened. The foreman reached behind his back and yanked something free from his belt.

A second later a dull click sounded, shortly followed by a loud, echoing gunshot.

The bullet sliced through the air and hit its mark. He may have been heavily involved in narcotics, but his aim was true at least.

I staggered from the force of the bullet and watched as my blood spattered the concrete. I took a deep, settling breath and then straightened up. I could feel my flesh already pushing the bullet free from my temple. It clattered to the ground as I rubbed the blood from my face and grinned at the startled drug-dealers.

"I think that about exhausts your means of...teaching me a lesson," I smirked.

I took a step forward to return the favour when a screaming wail of police sirens pierced the air around me. Several squad cars span into the car lot and suddenly I found more guns trained on me. The gang-bangers all dropped to their knees, hands on their heads. Seasoned veterans at being arrested, I suppose.

I sighed and raised my hands, lacing my fingers atop my head.

I was something of a veteran at being taken in for questioning too.