I walk the edge of a fence, step by step. It’s a challenge. You lose your balance, fall, climb back up, and keep moving. And then you run.
Life doesn’t ask how old you are. It doesn’t wonder if you’re ready. It just confronts you: fight or flee. But even to flee, you need to be prepared. The city is full of obstacles. Those obstacles can be your allies if you’re trained, or your enemies if you’re not.
Fences, stairs, alleys, rooftops—they all become yours. You learn to move through them like they’re straight roads. Jump, balance, keep up with the elevator as it rises or falls. Today, they call it parkour. Back then, we didn’t know the word. But the concept was the same.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
No, we didn’t have hidden blades. But a knife... a knife was there. It became an extension of your hand. You felt its balance, knew how it would fly through the air. It would appear suddenly, and vanish just as quickly.
New times demand new skills. You have to be elusive, silent. Able to catch anyone, but untouchable yourself.
Fight or flee. Everyone makes their choice. But if you choose to fight, you must learn how.
Now, there’s a different enemy—an enemy close by. One who wears masks. Quick and agile. Clever and experienced. To stop them, you must be their equal. No, better. Stronger, faster, smarter.
We learned much from street kids. They were masters of parkour, almost impossible to catch. We learned from them and became better. Faster, more agile.
And nonverbal communication—the well-known gestures, swift and silent.
Nonverbal methods of communication are faster, quieter, and incomprehensible to outsiders. They allow you to coordinate your actions. And we mastered them too.
We adopted tactics, techniques—we learned. Learned to be invisible.