The man—some desperate, foolish nobody—stepped forward, his face twisted in rage, his finger jabbing toward me. "Listen, kid," he spat, his voice a low, threatening growl. "Just give us your lighter. Don't force us to take it from you."
I didn't move. I didn't flinch. I just smiled, my eyes cold, my voice dripping with mocking amusement. "I will not give it." I leaned in, my tone a dark challenge. "What can you do?"
The man's face darkened, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. "You little shit—" He lunged, his hand grabbing for my collar, his fingers clawing at me.
I didn't resist. Not at first.
Instead, I raised my voice, calling out to the police officer with false panic. "Police Officer! Help! These people are harassing me!"
The police beauty was there in an instant, her body inserting itself between us, her voice a whip-crack. "What are you doing?!" she barked, her hand resting on the gun at her belt, her eyes blazing. "Are you trying to rob people?!"
