Morning Routine
The next day, same as always, Leo and Google strolled into the mall. Their job was simple: keep things under control and make sure everything ran fine. The place felt absolutely normal. No one talked about the old lady—it was like nobody even knew she’d been beaten to death the day before. The mall just went on with its usual rhythm—clean, orderly, business as usual.
Screams in the Mall
Then a sharp, piercing scream ripped through the air. “Help! Don’t come any closer!” a woman shouted, her voice trembling with panic. Leo and Google turned toward the sound.
Just ahead of her stood a man with no shirt on—muscular, glossy, and absolutely drenched in sweat. Droplets rolled down his arms and splashed onto the tile. Let’s call him Sweaty Guy. Judging by how soaked he was, the man had to have some kind of superhuman metabolism.
He stepped toward the woman, arms wide. “Give me a hug, please.” She shot back in a crisp British accent, “I’m not bloody hugging you.” Sweaty Guy grinned. “You mean you’re not sweaty hugging me?”
Challenge Accepted
Leo sighed. Trouble was brewing, and he really didn’t want to deal with it. But Google lit up the second he saw the guy—eyes wide, grinning like a maniac. Finally, a real challenge. His whole body was itching for a fight. “This is my turf,” he said. “I’m gonna beat you up and fuck you good!” And with that, he shot forward.
Sweaty Guy gave a crooked smile. “Bring it on.” While he was distracted, the woman bolted and vanished into the crowd. Google closed the gap in a blink, slamming a fist into the man’s jaw.
Too Slippery to Grab
He went for an over-the-shoulder throw, but his grip just slid right off. Too sweaty. Too slick. He lost his balance and hit the floor hard. Sweaty Guy laughed. “Guess my sweaty body’s a little too much for ya to handle, pal.”
Before Google could recover, a sharp kick slammed into his ribs, the impact jolting through his side and knocking the wind out of him. He slid a couple of feet across the tile before catching himself, one hand instinctively pressing his side. With a grunt, he rolled to a knee, pushed up, and steadied his stance. Too damn slippery, he thought. No more grabs—this was fists and feet only now.
Google swept low, his leg cutting across the floor in a sharp arc, but Sweaty Guy hopped clean over it without breaking stride. Google followed up instantly with a front kick that landed with a heavy thud, sending the man sliding back a couple of feet. He dropped to one knee, palms braced on the floor, but when he looked up, that grin was still plastered across his face.
Round Two
Then came round two. They closed the gap and went at it—straight punches firing like pistons, tight hooks whipping in from the sides, snapping kicks slicing through the air, and sharp blocks meeting each strike with solid, echoing smacks. Their footwork stayed tight, shifting and pivoting with each exchange, neither man giving an inch. The rhythm was steady, deliberate, and relentless. Dead even.
From a distance, Leo leaned against a pillar, arms folded, his eyes locked on them. He watched closely, studying every movement like a student at the back of a class. Kung Fu 101, he thought—a free lesson playing out right in front of him.
The pace climbed—each breath measured. Neither man was slowing down, and neither was giving an inch. This fight could go on forever. Leo glanced at his watch. Damn—almost six o’clock. If they kept this up, he’d be stuck here past his shift, and he hated overtime.
Booger Attack
He let out a slow sigh, then casually lifted a finger to his nose. A quick dig, a roll between his fingers, and his signature move was ready—booger attack. He flicked. The shot flew fast, arcing perfectly through the air before landing dead-on in Sweaty Guy’s eye.
A firework explosion went off in his eye socket. The man jerked back and screamed in pain, hands snapping up to cover his face. “Who the fuck did this? Despicable!” he barked, his voice raw with both agony and outrage.*
That was it—a perfect opening. Google seized the moment and lunged forward without missing a beat. Punches, hooks, elbows, kicks, and knees poured down like a sudden downpour, each strike landing hard and fast. He didn’t slow for even a second.
Victory and Aftermath
And then—thud. Sweaty Guy’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor like a sack of wet laundry, the impact echoing across the mall tiles.
Google and Leo turned and walked away casually, not even bothering to look back, leaving Sweaty Guy out cold on the floor. Moments later, two security guards came in, grabbed him by the arms, and hauled him to the entrance, dumping him onto the trash pile outside—right next to a greasy homeless guy squatting there, shamelessly taking a dump in public.
The mall settled back into its usual rhythm. Leo glanced at his watch—six o’clock on the dot. No overtime. Perfect. As they headed out, he replayed the fight in his head: basic moves, solid form, all useful stuff. Not a bad training session—and wrapped up right on time.
Extra Practice
On his way home, Leo spotted a guy he’d hated since school. Perfect timing. Fresh off his little “training session,” he was itching to try out the moves he’d picked up. Without warning, he beat the crap out of him right there on the spot. Standing over the guy, now out cold on the pavement, Leo looked at his own hands and muttered, “Man, I really did get a lot stronger today.”