One of the thugs, his face painted in grotesque Joker makeup, grinned at the woman. "Why the long face, sweetheart? We just want to play a little!" He reached out to grab her, his fingers curling like claws.
"Hey!" T.J. shouted, drawing their attention. He stood under a flickering streetlight, trying to project more confidence than he actually felt. "Pick on someone your own size, why don't you?"
The gang members turned to him, their grins spreading even wider. Scar stepped forward, a smirk on his scarred face. "Well, well, look who decided to play hero. It's the cemetery kid, trying to save the day. How noble."
T.J. held his ground, raising his hands in a mock surrender. "I'm not looking for trouble, Scar. Just let her go, and we can all walk away from this without any black eyes or broken noses. Mostly yours, I mean."
The woman took T.J.'s distraction as an opportunity to slip away, darting back toward the cemetery. Scar's eyes followed her briefly before snapping back to T.J., darkening with anger. "You think you're funny, don't you, kid? Always got a smart remark. But there's a fine line between funny and stupid, and you just crossed it."
"Yeah, well, I've never been great with lines," T.J. replied, glancing around quickly. The rain was starting to fall harder now, turning the park's ground into a slippery mess. He knew he'd have to use his surroundings to his advantage—he wasn't a fighter, but he'd gotten out of tight spots before with a mix of luck and quick thinking.
"Get him!" Scar ordered, and two of the goons lunged at T.J. He sidestepped the first one, causing the thug to stumble and crash into the wet grass. The second swung a fist, but T.J. ducked, feeling the air whoosh past his ear. Without thinking, T.J. grabbed a nearby tree branch and swung it like a bat, catching the thug in the side and knocking him down.
"Not bad for a guy who usually only fights homework," T.J. muttered under his breath, surprised at his own reflexes. He tossed the branch aside, facing Scar. "Is this really worth the effort? I mean, chasing me around in the rain? You could've been at home, binge-watching bad TV."
Scar sneered, taking a step closer. "You think this is a game, Del Toro? I don't care about the rain, and I don't care about you. All I care about is making you pay for embarrassing me in front of my crew."
"Embarrassing you?" T.J. asked, feigning innocence. "Nah, I think you're doing a fine job of that all by yourself, Scar."
Scar's face twisted with rage, and he reached into his jacket, pulling out a knife. "Laugh all you want. Let's see if you're still cracking jokes when you're bleeding out on the ground."
T.J.'s heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. He glanced around, spotting a garbage can a few feet away. With a quick, calculated move, he kicked it toward Scar, the metal clattering and rolling, making the gang leader stumble back in surprise. Using the moment to his advantage, T.J. turned and sprinted away, not waiting to see if Scar was following.
As he ran, T.J. heard Scar's voice echoing behind him, full of fury. "You can't run forever, Del Toro! This isn't over!"
"Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that!" T.J. called back over his shoulder, his feet pounding against the wet pavement. He didn't stop running until he was sure he'd lost them, ducking into an alley to catch his breath. Leaning against the wall, T.J. grinned to himself, despite the danger. His heart was still racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
"Maybe I should rethink this whole 'playing hero' thing," he muttered. "Or at least invest in a better pair of running shoes."