There’s a rolling metal sound like a garage has opened, and light floods the room. Naz doesn’t hesitate. He jumps and grabs the metal pole, hurls his body around it, tucking to avoid his feet hitting the ceiling. I have a flashback of younger Naz at a park once doing the same stunt. Then, he releases the bar and descends. But he doesn’t fall with gravity; he slows down—I think. That’s not possible. I shake my head quickly, not letting myself blink. Either he just played with gravity, or my concussion is playing with me. He does something that resembles an aerial spin like a gymnast to either impress me or propel himself near the wall where he lands in a perfect three-point stance. The thugs in front of him jump and gasp.

“What the…?” one of them says.

“Surprise.” Naz appears like a center on the line in a football game, and the eleven Incubus Apostles in front of him represent the other team. It’s one against many.

I instinctively move to help and then hear the General’s words, ‘Don’t engage’ in my head. I stop. Naz takes them by surprise. He’s almost against the wall, and I wonder is this lesson for me as I recall Naz’s advice at the cage that I should’ve put my back against the fence. Or is he just following his own advice?

He casually rises as if he’s supposed to be there and has just arrived late.

“Who are you?” One of the Apostles steps forward aggressively.

I’m at an angle where it’s still hard to see, so I move down the beam a bit to get a better view.

“Ivan, from the AG Killers.”

Hearing the name Ivan causes the thug to freeze.

“What happened to our deal?” Naz continues the charade.

“What deal?” the same thug asks, slowly moving closer to Naz. “Roffio’s gone. There is no deal.”

“What are you guys scared of?” Naz moves to the side and lowers himself slightly.

They don’t know what’s coming. He’s asking them questions and reading their minds for the answers. When he has what he needs, he’s going to thrash them.

“The boss said the deal’s still on?” Naz continues.

“What boss? Whose boss? There is no boss.” The thug in charge looks back, and the Apostles close ranks behind him.

I will not engage.

“That’s not Ivan,” one of them says.

“He’s right,” another voice chimes in.

“You got me,” Naz says. “I work for Skinny.”

Skinny? I bristle.

Naz lowers a bit, and I know what’s coming next. “They call me Ass—”

“Skinny’s a rat. Get ’im,” somebody says.

I hear metal clanking and sliding, and I know he’s disarmed them.

Naz gets even closer to the wall and lower. He doesn’t reach out; they come to him, and he dispatches them one at a time. It’s like watching a video game where your man has a force field around him. Naz only uses elbow strikes and low kicks to the ankles, shins, and groin area. He’s trying to take them out of commission but not permanently—encouraging.

It’s hard to see what’s going on, but I know Naz is hard to get to. The gang members are falling over each other in a vain effort to engage him. Naz doesn’t waste any motion. Even his blocks resemble strikes as the gang members drop like flies. Is this what Soul and I couldn’t see on the night Roffio died in the fire? Only, Roffio put up a fight, evidenced by the beating Naz took at his hands. But these guys are no match for Naz, and I laugh at myself for thinking he needed my help.

“Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.” Naz steps over one of the defeated gang members. He looks up and stops when he’s under the pulley and rope. “They call me Assassin.”

Assassin?

“That’s right! Assassin,” he repeats.

Is he answering my thoughts?

“But you can call me Invincible.” He reaches up high in the air and snatches down as if he’s pulled at something invisible.

The two ends of the rope fall from the rafters, and he catches them without looking. The gang members on the floor gasp. Naz takes the end with the bowline knot, lets go of the other end, and goes after his prey. It’s the thug who spoke up first, apparently the leader. Naz grabs him by the leg.

“Let me go,” says the leader as he snatches his leg and scoots away.

Naz overtakes him again, punches him in the face, and says, “Shut up and be still.” He puts the thug’s foot in the loop I created and then summons the other end of the rope by raising his hand. It flies to his hand as if it’s metal to a magnet. He grabs it and immediately pulls down on it, lifting the leader up by one foot. It’s kind of funny and at the same time amazing; funny to see the thug swinging back and forth like a pendulum, whimpering in fear and moaning in pain, and amazing that Naz has the strength to lift him that way. He must be calling on some other force.

He asks the thug swinging in the air, “Who … is the boss?”

“You,” the thug answers.

“No, you idiot,” Naz replies, clearly frustrated. “Who is the leader … of your gang?”

“Roffio,” the thug whimpers, “but…”

“But what?!” Naz yells.

“You killed him,” the thug manages to get out.

Naz looks at the rest of the gang members on the floor. “Who is your boss? Where is he?” Naz yells, again.

No one answers.

He looks up at me and shakes his head. His twenty-one-questions game has come to an end. He pulls on the rope until the thug is almost to the ceiling.

“The IA that owns these streets now is me, Invincible Assassin. If I see any one of you out here again, this is what happens.” He lets go of the rope, and the leader plummets downward.

I catch my breath, knowing Naz has truly crossed over to the dark side. But it is as if time stops and the thug freezes one foot before he hits the floor. He screams in a high pitch, probably thinking he skull has cracked and his brain splattered on the floor. A second later, the thug lands safely. He takes the rope off his foot as if it’s a curse that has finally released him.

“Now,” Naz says calmly. “Get out of here and never let me see your faces again.”

After the Apostles disperse, we dispose of their weapons and go our separate ways. But not before I make a request. I ask Naz to meet me at the Cage in a week after school, but I won’t tell him why, just him and me. I think he’s up for a surprise. He jokes about bringing Skinny, and I laugh.