Steven stepped closer, one slow step at a time. His eyes scanned the room, and the more he took in, the worse it got.
Blood spattered across the mat.
A few students writhing on the floor, clutching their arms or shoulders, joints clearly twisted or dislocated.
At first, Steven thought maybe there'd been a fight between them. An argument that went too far.
But then he looked again, and he knew.
This wasn't a brawl. It was clean. Efficient. Someone had come in and deliberately inflicted maximum damage in minimum time.
The students had been taken down fast.
But Joe... Joe was different.
The hits on him weren't meant to end a fight. They were meant to draw it out. Keep him conscious. Force him to feel every second of it.
"Some guy in a beret hat and camo pants!" one of the students burst out. "He just walked in and started taking everyone down!"
Who did this? And why? Steven thought, kneeling down beside Joe.
