Part 2: The Fight They Didn’t Expect
Arthur stood up.
For a brief moment, he looked like exactly what they thought he was—an aging man, slightly stiff, outnumbered.
Then the first punch came.
Fast. Reckless.
Arthur moved before it landed.
A sharp step to the side. A controlled grab. A twist.
CRACK.
The young man hit the floor, gasping.
“What the—?!” another shouted.
Arthur didn’t speak.
The second attacker charged. Arthur blocked, drove his elbow into the man’s ribs, then followed with a precise strike to the throat—not enough to crush, just enough to drop him.
Two down.
The restaurant erupted into chaos. Chairs scraped. People backed away.
The tall one hesitated now.
“Get him!” he shouted to the last guy, masking fear with anger.
They attacked together.
Arthur moved like muscle memory had taken over—decades of training flowing through him. He ducked one swing, countered with a brutal palm strike, then swept the other man’s legs clean from under him.
In seconds, all four were down.
Groaning.
Broken pride scattered across the floor like shattered glass.
Arthur stood in the center, breathing steady.
No wild movements. No anger.
Just control.
The tall one struggled to his feet, blood on his lip. “Who… who are you?” he muttered.
Arthur adjusted his jacket. “Someone who told you to walk away.”
Sirens echoed faintly in the distance—someone had called the police.
The restaurant manager rushed forward. “Sir, are you okay? We—”
Arthur raised a hand gently. “I’m fine.”
Then he looked down at the young men.
“This could have gone worse,” he said quietly. “For all of you.”
The tall one stared at him, something shifting behind his eyes.
Fear.
Confusion.
Recognition… almost.
Then one of his friends groaned, pulling something from his pocket—a phone.
“Man… we’re late…” he muttered.
The tall one froze.
“Late for what?” Arthur asked.
The young man swallowed hard.
“We… we have a meeting,” he said. “With a general… for approval… for the program.”
Arthur’s eyes didn’t change.
But something in the air did.
“What general?” he asked.
