Michael's cruel smile didn't fade. He surveyed the men, his eyes utterly cold.
“Count yourselves lucky,” he stated, his voice a low, chilling promise, “if you leave here alive at all.”
He paused, letting the fear sink in. The glint of the broken glass on the floor caught the light.
“The first person to pick up that glass and chew it,” Michael continued, his voice dangerously soft, “gets to live.”
The men didn't just laugh; they roared. The sound was thick with mockery, disbelief, and blind rage.
“Chew glass?!” the leader howled, lifting the metal pipe higher. “You're insane, trash! Let’s beat up this bastard!”
The ring of men surged forward as one.
The fight was over before it truly began. It wasn't a brawl; it was an execution.
Michael moved like an unstoppable force.
The leader
