CHAPTER 103

It wasn't much of a fight at all. Already a lot bigger, stronger and similarly skilled as his son, Marcos' father also possessed the advantage that Marcos was far from 100% fitness. The brawl with Robby was still taking a toll on his entire body, so Marcos could hardly raise his arms in time before his father had launched himself at him, grabbing his son and throwing him to the ground.

As they struggled for a little while on the ground, Marcos' father then managed to get on top of his son in an expertly executed full guard position, and began to rain down clobbering fists, much more powerful than the hits any of the teenagers had landed on him. These were the blows of a middle-aged, 6'5, 250 lb construction worker/Martial Artist, hopped up on a mind-bending combination of wrath and psychosis. Each one had the power to knock Marcos unconscious, and even as the boy used his hands to cover himself from some of the blows, he could still feel himself hanging by a mere thread, a single punch away from hurtling towards unconsciousness.

However, that punch never came. Instead, Marcos's father had something much, much worse in mind. The young Cobra was attacked by a python, who wrapped his hands around Marcos' neck and began to constrict him. Instantly feeling his access to air cut off, Marcos' eyes began to panic, flickering around the room.

He saw his father's biceps flexing with the immense effort he was putting into choking his son. He saw his father's eyes. The anger and wrath had actually seeped out of them by this point, and instead they were just… emotionless. They were cold. Reptilian. Marcos could tell that without a doubt, his father wanted to kill him. And the worst part was, Marcos couldn't bring himself to care.

A small part of Marcos, a very small part of him that had begun to take over, wanted his father to just bring his time on earth to an end. After all, even if he lived on, what exactly did he have left? In a few days, more likely than not, he'd either be behind bars in an L.A juvenile prison or on a plane back to Brazil, seated beside his abusive father as they got deported. Marcos wasn't sure which was worse, but both of them were situations that he didn't intend on letting happen to him at all. He'd rather face whatever battle came next in the afterlife than continue the inevitable, losing battle he had been fighting here for months.

Dark spots began to dance before Marcos' eyes as he could feel consciousness continue to slip away, his body fighting to inhale but his father preventing that most basic function. Not long now, Marcos thought to himself as he stopped thrashing around in his father's grip and began to lie still, embracing the enveloping darkness of unconsciousness as it came closer and closer to overtaking him. One of the last things Marcos did was drag his watering eyes to the bookshelf directly above him, partially blocked by his father sitting on top of him, but Marcos could still see one of the frames in his line of vision.

It was the image of him and his mother, at the beach together in Rio. Marcos couldn't have been older than 8, young enough to be blissfully unaware of the cruelty and ruthlessness that this world possessed. Despite how little their family had at the time, the young boy had been determined to fight for a better future. He had the picture in his head of what a perfect life would be like, inspired by all of the wealthy people that lived in Rio around him, and he was ready to fight with everything he had to get there. As he had gotten older, that fight in him had begun to fade, and by now, it had completely flamed out.

But deep down, Marcos was still that 8 year old kid. He still had that same fight within him, even if it had been buried very, very deep. He still had that image of a perfect life inside him. Sure it had changed a little. It had changed a lot actually. But it was still there, deep inside him. No longer was the goal to make more money than he knew what to do with. No longer was the goal to spend absurd money on the most trivial things just for the sake of it.

Now, the goal was different. It was simply to make his mom and the other people he loved proud. Nothing more. Nothing less. And right now, if Marcos died right now, with everything he had done in the recent past, he didn't think he was making anyone proud. Not his mom. Not Sarah. Not any of the people he cared about. This wasn't his time yet, as he couldn't leave this world without achieving that goal. Summoning a last burst of strength, Marcos suddenly brought his legs back into his chest and he kicked out forwards, surprising his dad with a kick to the abdomen that sent his father flying off of him and crashing against the wall, sinking to the ground in a heap.

Knowing that the danger was far from over, Marcos forced himself to stand, and just in time too as he saw his father reaching for something on the ground. Shit! The gun! Rushing over, Marcos managed to kick the gun out of his father's reach just in time, punting it away from the middle-aged man at first, before retrieving it himself. As his father lay on the ground, panting to catch his breath from the effort of almost choking his son, Marcos stood over him, the steel weapon now in his hands.

CLICK!

The unmistakable sound of the gun's safety clicking rang through the air, and for a moment, alarm flashed in his father's cold eyes. The barrel of the gun was a mere few feet away from his face, held by the boy he had spent over a month terrorizing.

"Why?" Marcos' voice didn't come out any louder than a faint croak, the asphyxiation hindering his ability to speak.

"What?" His father muttered.

"Why did you do this?!" Marcos managed to utter, a bit louder now as his voice returned to him. As his father stared up at his son, seeing the tears streaming down the teenager's face as his finger curled closer and closer to the trigger, he shook his head and he said the three final words he thought he'd ever say to his son for the rest of his life.

"It wasn't personal." His father whispered.

Tears blurred Marcos' vision, but it didn't hinder him from being able to see clearly the face of his tormenter for what felt like eternity. His father had pushed him to the brink of death on more than one occasion, so Marcos felt like he owed the man the same. The fury and hatred he channeled towards the abusive piece of shit urged his finger to creep closer and closer to the trigger, ready to pull it and end the man's life once and for all.

However, when he heard his father's words, Marcos was frozen into silence. His hatred almost immediately evaporated as he realized that as much as his father had consumed every thought, every nightmare of his, it hadn't been the same both ways. He always thought that his father had some kind of issue with him personally, pushing him into committing horrible acts towards him. Marcos would've much preferred that to the actual truth, as the truth was his father didn't give a shit about him. Marcos was just a means to an end, a way for his father to relieve all of his anger and frustration towards the world. While his father had possessed every thought of his, even beginning to turn him into the same monster, the man hadn't even batted an eye. And now here he was, about to inflict upon his father a worse pain that his father had ever inflicted on him. At that moment, Marcos realized that it was just not worth it anymore.

Taking advantage of the fact that his father was down, Marcos took the opportunity and dragged his beaten down body out of the house, eager to escape the nightmares and terrors of the small apartment for the final time…

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As Sarah returned home, an empty house given that her parents were out of town, she found herself pacing up and her bedroom for what felt like hours. She processed everything that had happened in that interminably long day: the fight between Robby and Marcos; the brawl that had occurred afterwards; Marcos pulling out the gun; shots firing; terrified children running away. A part of her couldn't believe what had happened, but that was clouded by her anxiousness about what would happen next.

She wasn't an idiot. She knew that it would be a minor miracle if Miyagi-Do didn't go to the cops about this one. But what would happen to Marcos when they did? A hefty fine? Deportation? Jail? She knew that all of these would be, in their own right, severely crippling for Marcos. So Sarah went onto the internet for a while, searching for the best way to reverse any of these possibilities, trying to see how to have as little damage done to Marcos as possible by the end of all of this. But the more she googled, the less hope she had.

All of a sudden, Sarah leaped out of her skin in surprise at the loud ring of the doorbell. She had been so immersed in what she was doing that the sound had been a complete shock. For a moment, Sarah was slightly nervous. It was 1 am and she was in an empty house, her family out of the state. Who the hell was knocking on the door at this time? It had always been something she secretly hated, being home alone. An irrational fear, one without much rhyme or reason as she knew that nothing would likely ever happen to her in her parents lavish mansion in the safety of Bel Air. Still though, she was slightly on edge as she slowly stepped into the entrance way of the house and opened the front door.

Sarah's jaw dropped as she saw who was standing at the door. It was Marcos, but the state of him was enough to leave Sarah speechless in horror. He had already been pretty battered by Robby during the brawl, but the sight that he was now… her face had gone completely pale as she took it all in. Firstly, Marcos wasn't even able to stand up straight, grabbing onto the railing of the front porch to support himself. His light shirt had a darkening patch of crimson blood, an open gash clearly hidden under his shirt. Blood was also dripping from wounds and cuts all over his face.

"Marcos… what… what happened?" Sarah whispered, clasping a hand over her mouth in horror. She watched as Marcos began to tremble for a moment, and then almost collapse into her arms. He wrapped his arms around her like a vice, and as he trembled more violently, Sarah could hear the quiet sound of her ex-boyfriend begin to sob. All of the drama that had recently occurred between them instantly vanished as Sarah felt Marcos break in her arms. She could practically feel him shattering, the stress, tension and anger about everything that had happened to him in the past few months finally proving too much for the young teenager. As he silently sobbed into her arms, Sarah held him, her worry insurmountable, especially when she heard his voice begin to speak in a quiet, terrified tone.

"I can't take it anymore." Marcos whispered, the tears streaming down his face as he did. "I can't take him anymore. He's going to kill me."

"Who?! Who did this to you? Was it Miyagi-Do?" Sarah asked. Marcos slowly shook his head before uttering the final words before he passed out, the feeling of unconsciousness pulling him too strongly for him to resist much longer.

"It was my dad…"