Chapter 1 - THE EASY TARGET
The first mistake Marcus Reed made was laughing.
The second was believing that the old janitor was afraid of him.
And the third—
The third was stepping onto the mat.
It was Friday evening at Westbrook Martial Arts Academy, and the building was louder than usual.
Parents crowded the viewing area.
Students lined the walls.
The younger children sat cross-legged near the front, watching the older fighters train.
At the center of the main dojo stood Marcus Reed.
Twenty-nine years old.
Six feet one.
Two hundred pounds of carefully built muscle.
A second-degree black belt.
Regional champion.
And, according to Marcus himself, the best fighter who had ever trained at Westbrook.
He had won eleven consecutive exhibition matches.
He had never been submitted.
Never been knocked down.
Never been forced to tap.
His black belt was tied perfectly around his waist.
His uniform was spotless.
And his confidence was even cleaner.
Then he noticed the old janitor.
The man was mopping the hallway outside the training room.
Gray hair.
Bent shoulders.
A faded blue work shirt.
Old black sneakers.
He moved slowly.
Almost invisibly.
Most students barely noticed him.
Marcus did.
And he smiled.
"Hey, old man."
The janitor stopped.
He looked over his shoulder.
Marcus pointed at the mop.
"You're in the wrong room."
The old man glanced at the floor.
"I'm cleaning."
"No."
Marcus laughed.
"You're standing in a dojo."
The old man looked at him.
"And?"
Marcus spread his arms.
"This is where fighters train."
The old man nodded.
"I know."
A few students laughed.
Marcus walked closer.
"You know?"
"Yes."
"You ever trained?"
The old man hesitated.
"Long ago."
Marcus laughed.
"How long?"
The old man looked at his mop.
"Long enough."
The students laughed again.
Marcus enjoyed the attention.
He turned toward his instructor, Sensei Daniel Brooks.
"Sensei, can I ask you something?"
Daniel already knew where this was going.
"What?"
"Can we use him?"
The room became quiet.
Daniel frowned.
"Use who?"
Marcus pointed.
"Him."
The old janitor looked up.
Daniel shook his head.
"Marcus."
"What?"
"Leave him alone."
Marcus grinned.
"I'm not trying to hurt him."
The janitor spoke quietly.
"He's right."
Marcus turned.
"What?"
"Leave me alone."
That made the room explode with laughter.
Marcus stared at him.
Then he slowly removed his black belt.
He placed it on the bench.
"You know what?"
Daniel stepped forward.
"Marcus."
But Marcus was already smiling.
"Maybe the old man needs a lesson."
The janitor sighed.
"No."
Marcus laughed.
"You're scared?"
"No."
"Then get on the mat."
The old man looked at Daniel.
Daniel looked back.
There was something in the old man's expression.
Something Daniel recognized.
He had seen it once before.
Twenty-two years earlier.
But nobody else knew.
The janitor placed the mop against the wall.
Then he removed his work gloves.
Slowly.
One finger at a time.
He stepped onto the mat.
The room became silent.
Marcus smiled.
"This is going to be embarrassing."
The old man looked at him.
"For someone."
Marcus raised his eyebrows.
"You've got jokes."
"No."
The old man stood naturally.
"I'm warning you."
Marcus laughed.
"About what?"
The old man looked into his eyes.
"Yourself."
Marcus attacked.
Fast.
A straight punch.
The old man moved half a step.
Marcus missed.
He threw another.
The old man shifted again.
Marcus kicked.
Nothing.
The old man wasn't faster.
That was the strange part.
He simply wasn't where Marcus expected him to be.
Marcus attacked again.
And again.
Every strike passed inches from its target.
The crowd slowly stopped laughing.
Marcus became frustrated.
"Stand still!"
The old man didn't answer.
Marcus rushed forward.
The old man turned.
A hand touched Marcus's shoulder.
A slight movement.
A change of angle.
And Marcus suddenly found himself on the mat.
The room went silent.
Marcus stared upward.
The old man hadn't slammed him.
Hadn't punched him.
Hadn't kicked him.
He had simply redirected him.
Marcus stood immediately.
His face was red.
"Again."
The old man shook his head.
"Don't."
Marcus attacked.
This time he was angry.
His movements became heavier.
Faster.
More aggressive.
But anger made him predictable.
The old man stepped aside.
Marcus stumbled.
The old man caught his wrist.
Turned.
And Marcus dropped to one knee.
The children at the front gasped.
Marcus pulled free.
He stared at the old man.
"Who are you?"
The janitor didn't answer.
Marcus attacked again.
Twenty seconds.
Thirty.
Thirty-five.
The old man barely seemed to breathe.
At forty seconds—
Marcus was on his back.
His arm controlled.
His shoulder locked.
The old man wasn't crushing him.
He wasn't hurting him.
He was simply holding him in a position Marcus couldn't escape.
Marcus struggled.
Nothing.
He twisted.
Nothing.
He tried brute force.
Nothing.
His face became pale.
"Let go."
The old man didn't move.
Marcus struggled harder.
"LET GO!"
The old man leaned closer.
"You chose this."
Marcus's breathing became ragged.
"I said stop!"
The old man released him immediately.
Marcus rolled away.
The entire dojo was silent.
The old man stood.
Calm.
Uninjured.
Not even breathing heavily.
Marcus stared at him.
Then at his own black belt lying on the bench.
His pride had been broken in less than a minute.
But the old man hadn't finished teaching him.
He pointed toward Marcus's belt.
"That belt doesn't make you dangerous."
Marcus looked up.
"It tells people you've trained."
The old man paused.
"What you do with that training tells them who you are."
Marcus said nothing.
The old man stepped off the mat.
He picked up his mop.
And walked away.
The room remained frozen.
Then Daniel Brooks whispered one sentence.
"Do you know who you just challenged?"
Marcus looked at him.
"No."
Daniel stared toward the hallway.
"His name is Gabriel Stone."
Marcus frowned.
"Who is Gabriel Stone?"
Daniel didn't answer immediately.
Because the story of Gabriel Stone had disappeared from the martial arts world nearly thirty years earlier.
And nobody at Westbrook knew why.
Except Daniel.
May you like
And perhaps—
Gabriel himself.
