The roar of the crowded cafeteria was deafening—a chaotic symphony of clattering plastic trays, shrieking laughter, and the dull, constant buzz of hundreds of conversations.
The air was thick with the smell of institutional pizza, cafeteria grease, and the sharp, artificial scent of industrial cleaner.
Aaron stood near the end of the slow-moving line, his knuckles white as he gripped his plastic tray.
He grimaced, looking down at his worn sneakers and wishing he could simply evaporate into the sticky linoleum floor.
Tank cut through the crowd like a predator, his eyes locked on Aaron with a familiar, hungry gleam.
Rykker noticed him immediately from the corner of Aaron’s eye.
“He comes again, like a scavenger to a wounded beast,” Rykker growled.
“Do you feel it, boy?
The way your own blood betrays you, pounding against your skin in fear?
This ‘Tank’ possesses no true strength—only the borrowed bellows of those who have never faced a real blade.
His gait is clumsy, his guard is nonexistent.
One strike to the throat would end this farce forever.”
“Be quiet, Rykker,” Aaron thought, his fingers trembling.
“I won’t do it.
My father thought every problem was a nail and he was the hammer.
If I use my hands to hurt him, I’m just continuing the cycle.
I’ll just…
I’ll just ignore him like the teachers said.”
“Ignore?
You speak of ignoring a storm while it tears the roof from your head!” Rykker’s voice was a whip-crack in Aaron’s mind.
“It is not virtue to be a doormat for the vile.
I have led men through the hell of a thousand sieges, yet I am bound to a host who equates inaction with morality.
This vow of yours is not a shield of honor; it is the chain that keeps you kneeling in the dirt.”
“It’s not cowardice!
It’s restraint,” Aaron screamed back internally.
“If you want to fight so badly, wait until he knocks me out.
Until then, stay out of it.” He took a shaky breath, staring intensely at a spot on the wall as Tank closed the distance.
“Knowledge is the antidote, right?
You said we’d find a video later.
“Knowledge without action is merely a well-read corpse,” Rykker replied, his tone shifting to a bitter disappointment.
“I feel your joints locking, your breath shortening—your body prepares for a blow you refuse to return.
Very well, we wait for the darkness to take you so I may finally act.
But know this: every time you let him steal your peace, you lose a piece of your soul that no ‘training video’ can ever restore.”
The internal argument was cut short as a shadow fell over Aaron.
Tank leaned in, his bulk blocking the fluorescent lights as he crowded into Aaron’s personal space.
His chest was pushed out to appear larger, and he looked not just at Aaron, but through him—a cold, focused stare that signaled he was uninterested in a real conversation.
Tank’s heavy hand descended toward Aaron’s shoulder, ready to rattle the boy’s world once again.
Rykker piped up right away.
“Aaron, still your heart, for now is a good time to ask for a parley.
He is without his comrades.”
It’s now or never, Aaron thought, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The relentless, humiliating harassment had worn him down to a raw nerve; he was tired of being a doormat.
He was willing to try anything, even if it meant facing his tormentor head-on, right here in the center of the lunchtime audience.
Aaron forced himself to look up as Tank reached him, his voice shaking slightly.
“Um, T-Tank.
Can’t we work this out?” Aaron asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite the noise around them.
“I want to hash out our differences.
Why do we have to be this way?
I’ve never done anything to you.
I mean, have I done something to offend you?
Is there any way I can fix this?”
“Work it out?
Fix this?” Tank crowed feigning a gasp by putting his hand on his chest.
Tank wrapped his arm around Aaron’s neck as if they were sharing a secret, his voice dropping into a low, mocking tone.
“Look, Aaron, don’t flatter yourself.
I don’t hate you because you’re special or because you actually matter.
I hate you because you’re easy.
You’re my door mat.
My pet.
My dog that I can kick when I feel like it.”
“My old man breathes down my neck every second of the day, picking out my clothes, my grades, my future—it’s pathetic.
But here?
I’m the one calling the shots.
The way I see it, he bothers me, I bother you, I feel better.
See?
Life is grand.” Tank mocked.
“Every time I mess with you, it makes me feel good; that I’m in control.
It reminds me that I can force someone to do things just because I said so.
You’re just the convenient punching bag that proves I’m not as powerless as he makes me feel.
So get used to it.
You’re not a person to me; you’re just the one thing in my life I actually get to control.
The best part is that there’s nothing you can do about it.
You can’t fix this.”
Aaron felt a chilling mix of pity and renewed defiance.
Hearing that he wasn’t even “important” enough to be hated for who he was—but instead he was just a tool for someone else’s therapy—was dehumanizing, but it also stripped away Tank’s power by exposing his desperation.
“He’s not a monster; he’s a prisoner.” Aaron realized the person standing in front of him was just as trapped as he felt, maybe even more so because he traded his soul for a fake sense of control.
“This isn’t about me.” Aaron understood.
It was no longer a reflection of his worth, but a loud, neon sign pointing to Tank’s true weakness; fear of not being in control.
“He thinks I’m the one who can’t do anything?
He’s the one who can’t even pick his own shirt,” Aaron scoffed.
Aaron’s heart rate was visible in the rapid pulse at his temple.
He stayed locked in submissive body language—shoulders hunched, head lowered, and hands gripping his tray so hard the plastic creaked.
“Hey, Freak.
Buy me lunch.
You have the fifty dollars I gave you on the bus.
Com’on.” He reached out, his hand open and menacing, and roughly shoved Aaron’s shoulder.
The impact wasn’t enough to knock him out—keeping Rykker firmly trapped—but it sent Aaron stumbling back, his tray dropping, the clatter of plastic echoing like a gunshot in the crowded room.
“What’s the matter?” Tank sneered, stepping even closer until Aaron could smell the stale energy drink on his breath.
“Gonna cry?
Or are you gonna do something about it?”