Punch

Matt was lifted off of his feet by his collar and suspended momentarily in the air, though he made no motion to fight back against it, his arms falling limply by his sides and his feet dangling weakly. The stranger holding him glared into his eyes, but Matt simply maintained his flat gaze in return. "You think you're some tough guy?" the man asked him. "Like you can walk around and do whatever you want like you own the damn place?" The question was followed by a ball of spit landing on Matt's cheek. The man didn't really want an answer. He just wanted to make a point.

"I'd really rather not have to go through with this," Matt replied, his voice as flat as the look on his face. "How about you let me go and I can finish my walk? I'm just passing through. Not here to interrupt."

That only served to make the man angrier, and suddenly Matt's back was slammed up against a brick wall with a loud bang. Matt had just been out walking, feeling the fresh air on his face. But he had evidently set foot in the wrong neighborhood. He hadn't had any particular destination in mind - he was letting his feet carry him, take him where they wanted to go. Turning down alleys, making a few loops, just putting himself in motion. But some people weren't so ok with that.

"I'mma show you why you don't mess with me, tough guy," the man whispered vehemently. "Show you why you don't set foot on my turf. This ain't your home. It's mine. And I don't take kindly to intruders."

"Technically this is public property." The man pushed hard against Matt's throat, trying to crush his windpipes. In truth it wasn't doing much, but Matt was making him angry enough as it was, so he decided against letting him know that.

The man let go of Matt's collar, letting him drop to the ground, and slipped a large switchblade out of his pocket, flicking the knife open. It was shiny and sharp. Well cared for, unlike seemingly anything else the man had on him. Matt eyed it for a moment, judging its dimensions, before he raised his hands up to his face in a defensive motion. "Now you're gonna fight?" the man sneered. "Now you're gonna die."

The man slashed once, but his blow fell short, catching him off guard. Matt was already anticipating it, and had slapped the stranger's hand further along, causing its trajectory to change and miss. But before the man could even process what had happened, Matt's fist was already flying, crunching into the man's nose and crushing it back into his skull.

The man dropped from the single blow. Matt pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping away the blood on his knuckles that had spurted from the man's nose. "Maybe consider buying some actual property," Matt muttered, turning away. "That way you have something to defend."