Fighting Chance 8

His arm was screaming, straight-up felt like someone was peeling muscle off the bone with a cheese grater.

Zain dangled about thirty feet off the damn alley floor, chain wrapped around his wrist and slicing deeper every second. His whole body swung like a busted-ass wrecking ball, lazy arcs back and forth while the chain just hung there—taut, solid, not even pretending to help.

His shoulder was shot. Felt like it was made of gravel. Fingers were halfway to numb from how long he’d been hanging on, and he could already feel the sting of his skin splitting under the links. “C’mon, bruh—” he gritted out, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “You gon’ save my life once and then just vibe? For real?”

The chain did not, in fact, respond.

He kicked out, trying to hit the wall, anything. His Jordans scraped the bricks, got zero traction, slipped off like the wall was greased. His whole body jolted with the shift, weight swinging hard left, and for a second—yo, for a real second—he thought that was it. He was about to eat trash and become one with the rats.

“Nuh-uh—nah nah nah, we not goin’ out like that.” His other hand shot up fast, grabbed higher up the chain, skin burning like the metal had teeth. Cold bit into him, but not enough to cover the way his shoulder lit up again, hot pain flashing from wrist to spine.

He hung there, panting. Sweat in his eyes, burning. His whole hoodie was sticking to his back. The air was cold, yeah, but he was cooking in it anyway. That dumpster he’d leapt off? Looked like it was two ZIP codes down now. Twenty feet up, fifteen to go. Goddamn.

His grip slid. Not a full drop, but enough to feel it.

Zain choked on the panic, tasted it like copper in his mouth. “Yo—yo! You serious? You really gon’ do me like this?”

No answer. Just that dumb-ass magical chain hanging there, being useless.

“This the thanks I get? I been nice to you, bruh!” Another slip. Another jolt of pain.

His feet kicked at the wall again, scraped useless. “I saved us! I took out two grown-ass men with one of y’all! And now you wanna act like—like you a regular-ass Home Depot chain?!”

Nothing.

“Man—fuck this, listen to me!” He yanked hard with both hands, tried to muscle up, arms shaking like wet noodles.

And the chain just… stayed. No glow. No pulse. Just cold metal digging into skin like it was judging him.

Zain groaned through clenched teeth, head dropped against his forearm. “I swear… I’m gon’ drop, and it’s gon’ be your fault.”

Still nothing.

A shaky breath. Then another. His whole chest rising too fast, not getting enough air. The cold wind cut through the alley like it wanted him gone too. His shoulder twitched again.

And then he screamed through his teeth—loud, frustrated, head tilted to the sky.

“Son of a bitch!”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

The abandoned building smelled like ass and mildew. Worse than the traphouse back in Brooklyn, somehow, and that spot had literal chicken bones tossed around on the floor to the point rats were inside gnawing on them But hey—this one had a roof, four walls, and a mattress that wasn’t completely crusted.

Zain could work with that. Kinda.

He was posted up on the mattress, legs criss-cross, hoodie bunched up behind his neck like a pillow. Fries and burger wrappers littered the floor around him like casualties. The chain was coiled in front of him, motionless, looking normal.

Dead, even.

“Aight,” Zain said, eyeing it like it had offended him personally. “Do the thing. C’mon. Stretch. Magic up. Whatever you were doin’ last night.”

Nothing.

He poked it. It was hard, cold metal. A heavy thing sure, but a basic chain anyway.

“Man, c’mon, I was halfway Ghost Rider the other day, and now you wanna act brand new?” Still, the chain didn’t move. Instead, it just sat there like it didn’t know it was supposed to be magic.

Zain scooped it up and felt the weight settle into his hands like muscle memory. The same one he’d whipped through a whole-ass apartment with, definitely, but not the same one. Okay, let’s try and fix this. How was I feeling the other day? He closed his eyes and tried to retrace—big dude charging, Chen pulling out a knife, his body moving on straight instinct. The chain had followed. No hesitation.

But now? Now it was just… chain.

He swung it. Lazy arc. Whoosh. Again. A Little faster this time.

Crack.

“Agh—FUCK!” The chain smacked him across the jaw, a clean hit that had him nearly bite down on his tongue in surprise. Zain clutched his face, eyes watering. “Bro. I will throw you into traffic.”

And he did. Not into traffic, but across the room at least. It clattered off a wall and collapsed into a pile like laundry.

He flopped back, arm over his eyes, pissed. Everything throbbed—the bruise on his cheekbone, his ego. Dumb metal snake.

Five minutes later, he dragged himself upright, shuffled back over and picked it up again like a grounded kid grabbing a game controller after rage-quitting.

“Aight. Round two. No dumb shit.”

Back on the mattress, he looped one end of the chain under it, held the other in his hand. He stared. Waited. Nothing.

Then, just screwing around, he gave his end a little tug. He didn’t expect anything but he tried anyway.

Except this time, it moved.

No, not just moved—grew.

The furthest link blurred, multiplying and stretching out like someone was feeding it a ton of chain from somewhere else. Zain’s heart froze in place.

“Nah—nah, no way.” He scooted back, hands up, chain still growing like it wanted space.

He let it fall from his hand.

Snap. The chain recoiled, and all of a sudden, it was normal again. Like nothing happened.

He stared.

Then reached.

He held it gentle this time. One end sat in his hoodie pocket, the other in his hand. “Do that again. Please.”

It did.

The chain stretched. Fast. Long.

It stretched like it forgot what length meant. The thing shot across the room and tapped the far wall before slumping to the floor like it just finished a workout.

Zain jumped up so fast he almost slipped on a fry wrapper.

“AYO!” His voice cracked mid-scream. “NO WAY!”

“C’mon, let’s… let’s see what you got.”

Zain did a little test yank on the chain, not hard at all, just testing the thing a little to make sure it was still functional. The chain slid a few inches, like it was thinking about listening, then it finally retracted slow, kinda lazy, like a bored dog finally moving off the couch.

Zain narrowed his eyes. “Bet.”

He focused harder, jaw tight, picturing it snapping back all the way like a slingshot. The thing twitched, picked up speed like it got the memo, and zipped back across the floor with a snaky rattle.

“Yo.” His lips parted a little, eyes going wide as he realized the potential in his hand. “That’s wild.”

He didn’t stop, because how the hell could he?

No, he spent the next hour running test after test, pacing around like he was mid science fair project—but with cursed hardware. He swung it at walls, let it stretch out a window, and watched it keep going. Across the alley, past the trash bins, over the next roof.

No matter what, the thing never hit a limit.

He tried to push it left, then right. Up. Down.

Basic directions were a go. He couldn’t do tricks or anything—like, it wasn’t turning corners midair—but if he thought hard enough, it usually leaned the right way. Which was fuckin’ sick.

Pulling it back was trickier. He had to start it with a real tug, like a wake-up tap. Once it got moving, it sped up if he kept thinking hard, come back. It wasn’t clean, but it was magic, and it worked.

By mid-afternoon, he was over it. Time to level up.

He stood under one of the rafters, fifteen feet easy. A thick enough beam to hold his weight, not rotten. He had the chain tucked in his hoodie pocket—because apparently that’s what made the weird voodoo hit. No idea why.

“Alright,” he muttered, winding back like it was a baseball. The first throw missed, hard. The chain clanged off concrete and some pigeons went ballistic above.

“Bro.” He shook his head. “That ain’t even close.”

Second throw? On target. It wrapped tight, fully locked around the beam. He gave it a pull and the thing stayed solid. It was a beefy beam, that much was true.

He climbed a stack of busted pallets to get some lift and took a breath.

“Okay, don’t die, don’t die, don’t die…” And then he jumped.

The chain held. His body jerked into a swing, legs out, hoodie flapping. Wind in his face, heart full tilt, he felt like he was flying almost.

“YOOO—”

He landed hard, legs buckling but upright, adrenaline shooting through his chest like lightning. He straight-up laughed, pumping the air. “Let’s GOOO!”

So. Time for the field test.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

And now he was here.

Just dangling off the side of some random brick building, maybe five stories up. His arms were dying and the chain… well, the chain was still tied tight to the roof.

Zain gritted his teeth, one hand over the other, dragging himself up like this was gym class from hell as the chain refused to work all of a sudden. Sweat burned his eyes, his hoodie was soaked, and his shoulder was outright screaming again.

He yanked again. Another few inches, sure, but the chain held either way.

That was something.

Finally—finally—he got a hand on the ledge. Concrete scraped his knuckles but he didn’t care. He kicked hard, pulled harder, every muscle burning like he’d done a thousand pushups.

He flopped over the edge like a dead fish, landing flat on his back, panting so loud it echoed.

The chain clattered next to him as he blinked up at the sky, staring at the clouds as they rolled in. The entire rooftop smelled like wet tar and whatever pigeons did when they got bored.

Zain laughed, winded. “That… that was OD.”

He rolled over, patted the chain. “You gotta pick up the pace though, for real. My arms almost quit the team.”

It had worked. Not perfectly, not clean, but close enough to count.

By the time the sun dipped low enough to turn Brooklyn orange, Zain was perched up top like he owned the skyline, chain wrapped lazy around his waist like it was a Saiyan tail. He had a half-eaten apple in one hand, juice on his chin, eyes locked on the streets like he was scouting for NPCs.

Not his city. Not really.

But it was kinda starting to feel like it might be.

Block by block, roof by roof, week by week, he was learning it. Where the gangs sat posted, which streets the cops never bothered with, who looked out for who, and who didn’t give a damn.

And who needed help.

Movement by the subway stairs caught his eye and Zain frowned as he spotted something. A woman—maybe early twenties, blonde, low-key vibe, holding her baglike it had her life inside it. It would have been nothing major, just a nervous looking girl walking alone if it wasn’t for the two dudes walking behind her, one nudging the other, both moving like they’d done this dance before.

Zain squinted. One of ‘em peeled off, trailing behind her, hand already dipping in his jacket. Nah. He knew that look. He’d seen it too many times. That was a knife move.

He chucked the apple core off the edge and stood. “Bet.”

Roof to roof, he followed, pacing them quietly. The mugger made his move two blocks later—grabbed her arm, and yanked her into some alley before she could even scream proper, the other guy following behind just as quick.

Zain posted above, crouched on the lip, chain already looped through his hoodie pocket. Below, the dude was talking loud, knife out, definitely trying to keep her quiet out of fear. He dropped down, quiet and quick, and rushed up as quiet as he could. Alright, let’s do this.

Zain inhaled slow, and told the chain what he wanted.

It moved.

He flicked his wrist and the thing wrapped around the guy’s ankle like it was an extension of his own hand. Zain didn’t wait and he just yanked with everything he had, all at once.

The mugger hit the pavement like God hit the smite button. His knife flew and the partner froze before taking off without even saying a word. Zain blinked as the guy didn’t even try to fight. …Huh.

The first guy was groaning, already scrambling and trying to grab the blade again—

Zain rushed forward without wasting a moment and stomped his arm, hard. The guy screamed, loud and messy, as the sound of a crack rang out, before he curled up, cradling his broken arm like a baby.

Zain glanced at his pockets. He thought about robbing him but then… Nah. He had plenty more at the homebase. Glancing up, he shot the woman a look. “You cool, lady?”

The woman just stood there, hands still clenching her bag, eyes wide like she was seeing a ghost.

“Who… what are you?”

He was still breathing hard, shoulders tense, but he grinned anyway. “Just a kid with a chain.”

He hurled the chain up, the thing extending at his will and latching around a railing on a roof just above him. He clicked his tongue. “See ya.” Without wasting a moment, the thing retracted, dragging him up smooth like an elevator that hated him. His shoulder screamed, but the grin didn’t leave.

In seconds, he was gone.

Left behind? One passed-out mugger, one freaked-out woman.

Sue Storm stared up, blinking like her brain was buffering. “What the hell?”