Filed to story: A Bullied Boy Died: A Mafia King Woke Up In His Body
“You’ve been here the longest. Are you invested in making this gang better?”
It was a hard question. In hindsight, Damian knew he could have left the gang at any time. There used to be people he cared for in their group, but five years of continuous fighting and hustling was a long time. Now, he was the last of his generation, wondering if he should jump ship with his younger brother.
Damian immediately disregarded the thought. He owed it to his former friends to make the gang the best he could. This was the reason he’d even stayed on when Ulon had been the leader. He was still on the fence about whether Kyle would be a good boss, unable to shake the impression of the formerly weak Alvin.
“Yes, sir. I am.” Damian resolved himself, answering truthfully.
“Good. From now on, you are in charge of discipline and training.”
“Discipline? What?”
“Let me provide an example. Gather everyone here.”
Damian gathered everyone while Kyle waited patiently, standing near the entrance of the common area. It took close to ten minutes for all twenty gang members to assemble, and even then, they were standing in a disorderly manner, yawning and scratching in unthinkable places. Only Damian and Keith stood tall.
“It’s the second day since I took over,” Kyle began, his face stern, hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve noticed a clear lack of discipline, organization, and training among you. You two, run to the other end of the common area, touch the wall, and come back.” Kyle pointed to two random gang members.
Confused, the men looked around, trying to figure out who was being called out before they realized it was them. The request didn’t click in their heads.
“Huh? Me? Why the hell would I do-“
“
RUN!
” Kyle bellowed with such force that the two gang members nearly shat themselves. Without further hesitation, they started to run, reminded of the sheer brutality Kyle had inflicted on Ulon just a day ago. The other members were shocked at the volume of Kyle’s shout.
They ran as fast as they could, touching the wall before coming back, but they began to slow down upon returning, obviously tired from sprinting the distance.
“How far was that other wall?” Kyle asked Damian, who looked lost as he tried to estimate the answer in his head.
“About twenty-five meters, sir,” Keith answered quickly.
“You’re telling me two of our members who are involved in protecting stalls, traders, and our businesses are unable to maintain a sprint for more than twenty-five meters?”
No one replied, their heads kept low, ashamed by the performance of their comrades. Some even felt they might not have done any better themselves. The returning runners panted and heaved, looking as though they had just finished a marathon.
One of the braver gang members stood up to Kyle, incensed at the entire thing. “Hey, fuck you, Alvin! You think you’re a bigshot now just because you got a lucky kill on Ulon? We ain’t all pushovers nor dumb-you must have drugged that bitch to hell and back!”
“Are you crazy? Keep your head down!” his friend urged, but he shrugged it off.
“Hell no! We really gonna let this weak Alvin fucker just walk all over us like that? Ulon is one thing, but this fodder? We all know he cheated!” The brave idiot postured, pushing his way past the others to stand in front of Kyle, bravado leaking through.
Kyle smiled as though he had been expecting this, though he did not make a move.
The brave gangster grinned. “Look at this, lads. All this weak cunt can do is stand and smile! There’s no way in hell he beat Ulon fairly in a-“
Before he could continue, Kyle grabbed the man by the face and swept him from under his legs, slamming him hard onto the ground with a loud crash. The man remained motionless, unconscious from the sudden attack. Kyle let out a deep sigh while slicking back his hair, returning to his original position as though nothing had happened.
The other members tried their best to avoid looking at their fallen ally, though it was clearly impressed on them that Kyle was even tougher than Ulon had been. No one dared step out against him now.
“Next, you two. Lift that sofa up and move to that position. Before placing it down, hold it for thirty seconds.”
The next pair didn’t hesitate this time. They lifted a heavy three-seater sofa, albeit just barely, and dropped it onto the floor within ten seconds.
Kyle sequentially gave each pair a different physical task in the common area, with the gap between tasks reducing with each passing minute, causing them to exert even more strength. Moving things, sprinting, lifting, and shuttle runs to pick up random pieces of trash. Even Damian and Keith were not spared from the physical tasks.
The goons were not dumb-they were thoroughly aware that they were being forced to clean up the place. Little by little, they saw the direct result of the work, and some even began to joke among themselves as they picked up months’ old rubbish.
After thirty minutes, they were all sweating profusely, their shirts stained at their backs and armpits. Nonetheless, they were not angry at Kyle. Instead, they felt good about the place being clean.
They stood in a loose group, marveling at the common area transformation from a literal trash heap to a functional space. Even the trash and litter on the floor and the bulky heaps of broken metal were nicely swept to one corner.