Shattered Ladder 1-19 (Patreon)

Chapter 19

There were twenty-seven bones in an entire hand; nineteen in a clenched fist.

Fourteen phalanges and five metacarpals, if you ignored the carpals in the wrist. Ken knew this like he knew the number of blood vessels in the body and their placements along with so many other important lessons. It was the least bit of information you needed to know to treat the body, and the fist was simple enough.

Simple as it was, at the end of the day, a fist was a piece of meat and bone not much bigger than a good-sized rock. And just like a good-sized rock, it could do some damage moving at speed.

Ken didn’t have time to think, no time to even flinch; a high-pitched buzz sounding from the back of his head like a hundred bees took the place of his brain. His veins went cold, where there should have been hot rushing blood, the world slowing down just a little as his heartbeat stilled to almost nothing.

Sway. His head tilted to the side, a heavy set of knuckles tattooed to near-darkness sliding past his ear. Air brushed his cheek, locs swinging back as the punch went by.

His hand shot up, fingers held together flat and stiff as a board.

Body carrying him forward, he stabbed up with all his force, a short brutal jab into the soft spot under the man’s outstretched arm. Ken’s heart pounded in his chest once, enough time passing for the arm to fall back to the thug’s side as the big man let out a wide-eyed gasp; wet, choked and raw with pain and nothing but.

Four voices screamed in time with the largest thug; all four just anger, not pain.

Yet.

Each one rushed him as their leader fell back and to the ground, faces twisted into rage as they threw themselves at him with as much combined coordination as a drunk. 

Ken half-stumbled over his own bare feet as he lurched forward; another blow aimed straight for his chest hitting nothing but air. Huh… The thought slid from his mind as he twisted again, nonexistent footwork carrying him a third of the way into the makeshift shop and out of the way of a punch to the jaw.

His body moved nearly on its own, a trip carrying him in a coiling, near-fluid motion that he could barely track until it was over. Too fast for him to even understand and too confusing to predict, it was no easier for the five thugs either.

A thick pipe swung his way, a wide arc aimed right for his head, in the hands of a man with a face studded with cheap iron studs.

Ken didn't block.

His body twisted inside the swing, one arm wrapping around the other man’s limb as he guided him forward; all the momentum of the swing pulling the thug towards him and off-balance. One knee snapped up as the man came close, a wet thump of meat sounding off at the same time as an even harsher crack. 

The thug folded, pipe falling from his grip as air left his lungs in a ragged wheeze.Momentum still in play, Ken kept the spin going as his arm flew free, the thug going with it as the pierced man crashed into a rack full of tech, cheap plastic shells shattering into a thousand and one pieces.

“Bast-”Thick hands swung around him from behind, Ken’s eyes going wide for a heartbeat before he simply dropped. All his weight fell away as he slumped to the ground, the man stumbling forward with an angry scream.

Ken spun on the floor, a low coiling heel kick lashing out.

A sharp, ugly snap echoed in the small shop, the thick-necked Junker Fist dropped next to Ken with a high-pitched scream, ankle bent back at an angle it was never meant to.

There was no raw power in his hits; not like the night before in the market. Ken knew that like he knew how to find a vein; instinctive and deep in his gut. He didn’t have the space to even try, not outnumbered and fighting half-blind in a crumpled shop. Somehow, though, he was using their own strength against them; forcing them to hit air, to trip over each other, into his own hits.

It was clumsy. It was ugly. It was a completely confusing dance.

But it was working.Just him in the center of it all, the messy up-close brawl he got himself mixed up in because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut like all the other times. And now, he was knee-deep in a whirlwind of violence going off nothing but desperation and alien instinct.

Nggh! A grunt burst out of his lips, a distant explosion of pain in his side sending Ken stumbling back a foot. He hadn’t even seen who hit him as he twisted but that didn’t stop his body from moving, fist lashing out in a hook as sloppy as it was wild.

The raw strength he remembered from last night was there this time; too much force, power his body shouldn’t have had in him or been able to call on with the way he moved his body. No matter how much it didn’t make sense to him, it didn’t do anything to stop it from being there anyway. 

His fist connected — all that power and almost no control behind it — with the side of a Junker’s head. The sound was thick, a slab of meat hitting a concrete floor, as the man’s jaw snapped sideways, teeth flying free and scattering like coins.

The thug’s eyes rolled back in his head as he crumpled, unconscious and unbreathing before he even hit the ground.

Ken spun again and shoved another man hard with both hands, all that force sending the Junker crashing back into the flimsy wall of the shipping container. The whole thing shuddered like the world was falling apart, dust and rust raining down from the ceiling.

“...sc-scrapshit.”

The apprentice turned around again, blinking slowly as he realized all four of the ones who had rushed him were down. Down down, all of their eyes closed and one completely nmoving, with the only one still standing and still conscious being the first and the biggest. The first Junker Fist Ken had ever met stood there, arm still hanging uselessly at his side, as he let out an open-mouthed roar, face red enough it almost made Ken worry.

The Junker thug clearly didn’t care for his heart or his health as he charged again, leading with his good shoulder like it was a battering ram.

Ken met the charge, his own shoulder slamming hard into the man’s chest. He was outmassed, outmuscled, and outmanned, but he was far from outmatched and something deep inside him knew it.

Even still, the impact shook his body, feet scraping back as the thug’s force met him with all the power he could muster. He felt the hit the Junker took the moment they made contact, a jarring, bone-rattling shock that sent the man off his feet and right back to the ground; eyes wide and mouth open with a scream on his lips.

Ken still didn’t understand what or how he knew; just that his smaller, lighter body could do something like that.

Just like that, the fight was over, no more than a full minute passing between the first and last punch thrown. The thug who’d been using the pipe was groaning on the floor, one hand clutching his side. The one he’d tripped was scrambling backward, face pale as he dragged his broken leg out of the shop. The leader gave another growl, the sound wordless as it was angry; two of his friends dragging him and the last unconscious toothless thug out of the shipping container. 

His heartbeat picked up again, the chill in his veins easing up as he pulled in a slow breath. His shoulders slumped down, a wave of exhaustion washing over him hard enough one hand went to a wall to keep him upright. I’m kinda… Ken blinked, looking around the trashed shop as the redhead peeked his head out from behind his arms. Why am I hungry?

His stomach rumbled loud, like he hadn’t eaten in a whole day. Wait, I haven’t.

He looked up at the sound of a slow, deliberate clap, his eyes meeting Zee’s as she leaned up against the doorframe, a single eyebrow raised his way. "...what was that you said about not being muscle, Outsider-boy?"

Ken looked down at his own hands, doing his best to push down the feel of his heart pounding and how good that had felt. “My name’s Ken.” He shook his head, adrenaline draining out of him as the hollow buzz in his head went with it. “That wasn’t me, I… I mean…."

He licked his lips, throat and tongue dry as dust. “It wasn’t.”

Zee snorted as loud as his growling stomach. "Looked like you to me. You got a twin who fights for you?"

Throwing his hands back down to his side, Ken snapped his head back up to Zee, eyes narrowed half to slits. "Shut up."

Before Zee could throw back another insult, the scruffy redhead stumbled his way out from behind the counter corner where he’d been hiding. His face might have been a mess of bruises, busted lip too, but his smile was pretty wide for someone who just got beat up.

"H-hey,” The redhead stumbled over the word, almost sounding like he was slurring more than anything, “Hey, friends.”

 "Friends?” Zee’s gold gaze snapped all the way past Ken like he wasn’t even there, suddenly all business as she landed on the redhead. “What ya think this is, Dong? Owed me two before. Now it's three."

The older kid held up both hands, shaky grin spreading wide over a battered face. "Yeah, yeah, I pay, I always pay! Y'know that, Lady." A laugh spilled out of him, the sound as unsteady as the smile. "Call ya friend 'cause you didn't have to help, see? That's all you, that's your good heart, Zee-lady."Ken snorted. “Good heart?”“Yeah, good. She's good, real good." The burly kid nodded fast at Ken, the look in his eye almost begging him to agree. “You too, friend, you too. Call me Don, Donny. All friends do.”

"Shut up, Dong." Zee cut him off, gold eyes flitting between him and Ken. "You good, Mr. Outsider? Looking real shaky there."

Shaky? No. Ken pushed back off the wall, frowning over at Zee. “M’fine.”

The Don guy didn’t seem to like quiet all that much, quick to butt in again. "Ay, friend! Some moves ya got! Like right off the viz. Anything you need from me, ya man Donny got ya. Swear it, all truth!"

Zee snorted at the last word, the girl pushing off the doorframe as her pink sandaled feet took a few more steps right into the shipping-container-shop. "What you swearing on, Dong? Shut up and let's talk payment.”The smile on Don's face froze, then cracked. "Payment, pay… o’course, Lady Zee. Ya man Donny got ya, always. No big ask there. How 'bout that intel I promised ya back night? Got more on the line on all that pre-War tech haul that's pract-"

"Not negotiatin’, Dong.” Zee’s voice was another interruption, voice stabbing out with each syllable. "We just kept you from being meat for the the Junker dogs.” Ken pulled a face. We? What we?“We want a card now. Brand new Cee-Cee for him." She jerked her chin over Ken’s way as he stared back at her.

“Wha-” Don’s eyes widened, a new layer of panic entering his voice. "A card? That’s… look, I can't just… anything else. Any, anything but that."