WHACK!

In a busy sports hall, dozens of students and their parents turned their heads at the unmistakable sound of a slap. Zalen’s light brown face flushed, mainly from embarrassment but partially from the sheer force of a palm crashing into his cheek.

There were only two people who had slapped Zalen and lived. One was his late mother, and the other was his older sister. Anyone else who had somehow managed to lay a finger on him had either been gunned down or brutally stabbed.

“This is ridiculous,’ his sister, Mariam, hissed. “You’re not even trying in any of your subjects. Not submitting any homework? Skipping classes? This is unacceptable. You promised!”

Zalen leaned back, tilting his chair. The eighteen-year-old sixth former was an abnormal 7ft1 giant. Clothed in a black tracksuit instead of uniform, his presence stood out overwhelmingly, exuding nothing but intimidation. One of his hands could easily encompass his sister's head as if it was a tennis ball yet he couldn’t meet her piercing gaze.

“I promised I wouldn’t drop out,” Zalen said cooly. “That was the deal.” He risked a glance and instantly felt like shit. The look of disappointment stung worse than the slap. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“With what Zale? Please tell me. I would love to know.”

There was no need for a reply. They both knew the answer.

“Zalen Simmons?” The voice of Zalen’s music teacher broke the silence.

Mariam’s frown shifted to a fake smile in a flash as the two got out of their chairs, walked up to the music teacher's desk and sat down.

“Hello, Mr. Deante,” Mariam said cheerfully, reading off the teacher’s name on a label stuck to his shirt. “I’m Zalen’s sister. Let me guess. He’s been extremely hard to teach.”

“Not at all,” the teacher replied. “Zalen is arguably one of the most talented musicians in the class. He’s a pleasure to teach.”

Zalen grinned when he saw Mariam's jaw drop. It was such an amazing moment, he was tempted to take a picture of his sister's shocked expression.

“Your brother clearly has a passion for music and I encourage him to continue developing his skill for rapping and the piano. The most recent coursework he submitted, which was an original musical piece, was absolutely phenomenal.”

The teacher continued praising Zalen before recommending resources to improve his skills. It was a nice contrast to the other teachers who only gave negative, candid comments but, truthfully, he didn’t care for the compliments.

It was Mariam’s beaming smile that he cared for. She was always stressed and worried for him but now she glowed with happiness. It made him happy.

Outside the school gate, Mariam tried to convince Zalen to reconsider university but his mind was far from education, already drifting to profits, drug deals, territories and rivals that needed to be eliminated.

Mariam’s happiness could never last long, not with the path he had chosen. The reality was that Zalen was one of the most dangerous criminals in the city and the leader of the Hustlers, a violent gang rapidly rising in notoriety.

Somewhere along Mariam’s speech, a tinted, black car pulled up beside them. Rain began to pour.

“It’s getting late,” Zalen said. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Where are you going?”

“It’s just business.”

Mariam gripped Zalen’s wrist before he could enter the vehicle. “No. Tell me. Where are you going? Are you going to do something bad?”

“Don’t worry-”

“How can I not worry when you’re going down your brother's footsteps?” The question was a whisper, weak and tired. Every possible argument had been made a long time ago. There was nothing else she could say.

“Don’t worry,” Zalen said again. Luckily, he didn’t need to lie this time. “I’m going to the hospital to meet someone special.”

Approximately two hours later, Zalen stood beside a hospital bed of someone special. The individual was fresh out of a coma and heavily guarded by police. The only way a citizen could talk with such a person was through heavy bribes.

The individual was an assassin called Ejiro. Eight of the biggest gangs in London had hired the hitman for one of the most challenging, and expensive assassinations on Earth. A 7.3 million pound contract had been negotiated to eliminate Psycho the Superhero once and for all.

It was practically an impossible task and yet, Ejiro had claimed it was possible. Many were skeptical but everyone within the underground space knew of the assassin's accolades. He had never failed, succeeding against the odds countless times.

Basically, if you wanted someone dead, you released a bounty on the darkweb. Simples.

But if you really, really wanted someone dead, you hired Ejiro.

And if there was anyone who was desperate, it was every high level syndicate based in the city. For five years, the superhero had been kicking every criminal's butts relentlessly, mindlessly looking for anyone who even thought of harmful intentions. Within what seemed like a blink of an eye, the man had single-handedly fucked up countless long-term operations, from elaborate bank robberies to human trafficking rings to routine extortion.

Simply put, he was bad for business. So when Psycho had finally disappeared for more than a week with no body found, a burning question crossed many criminals minds...

“Did you do it?” Zalen asked.

The assassin looked at the ceiling blankly for a moment. Then the slightest of smiles appeared. “Yes and no.”

“Elaborate.”

“He’s alive all right. But the Psycho you once knew is dead. He will never pick up a knife again and if he is ever brave enough to step out on the streets, he will die. He is my greatest artwork. My masterpiece.