The bald man's warning came in the form of a calm yet firm tone. "You will get yourself injured if you continue being stubborn!" he cautioned, his words barely audible over the sound of clashing metal and crunching gravel. As he spoke, he ducked to avoid a wild swing from one of the thugs, the metal object whizzing past his head with a hair's breadth to spare.
With lightning-quick reflexes, the bald man grabbed the thug wielding a knife by the wrist, twisting it with a swift motion that sent the blade clattering to the ground.
The boy let out a blood-curdling scream as he clutched his injured hand, his face contorted in agony. Undeterred, he launched a wild punch at the bald man, who parried the blow with ease and countered with a powerful kick that sent him crashing into the nearby wall.
The thugs' leader watched in stunned silence as his men were taken down one by one, their bodies strewn about the alleyway like discarded ragdolls. His face flushed with rage as he released Christina from his grasp.
"What the fuck are you guys doing? You can't even take down one man!" he bellowed.
Christina's gaze drifted toward the bald man, her eyes narrowing as she tried to identify him again. His sunglasses made it impossible to discern his features, yet the familiarity was uncanny, like a half-remembered dream.
The bald man's patience seemed to have worn thin. As the thugs regrouped, grabbing their weapons and charging at him with renewed aggression, he stood his ground. With surprising agility, he charged forward, his movements a blur of precision and power.
In the blink of an eye, the thugs were all defeated, overpowered by the bald man's impressive hand-to-hand combat skills. The bald man stood tall, his chest heaving slightly as he gazed at the thugs with an unyielding intensity.
"I'm giving you ten seconds to get out of here," he warned. "After that, I might actually kill you all."
Without hesitation, the thugs scrambled to their feet and took off in a frantic sprint, abandoning their leader in the process. Christina seized the opportunity to exact a measure of revenge, but the thugs' leader was quick enough to dodge the blow from her, pivoting and disappearing from view as he staggered away.
As the thugs vanished into the distance, the bald man turned his attention to Christina, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips.
"Hello, Christy," he said, his voice low and smooth, with a hint of familiarity that left Christina feeling perplexed.
"You must be one of my father's employees," Christina implied. "Tell me your name, and I'll put in a good word for you with my father."
The bald man's smile continued to grow, his teeth gleaming in the faint light of the alleyway. "You still don't recognize me, Christy?" he asked.
Christina's brows arched reflectively as she studied the bald man's features. None of my father's employees address me informally, shethoughttoherself, but this man calls me by my nickname as if we're old friends. Who the hell is he?
The bald man's smile subsided, replaced by sadness and disappointment. You seriously don't recognize me, Christy? he asked again.
"Of course! I don't know you!" Christina blurted out, her eyes flashing with exasperation, but as she looked into the bald man's face, a sudden jolt of realization struck her.
"Wait a moment! What was that?" she exclaimed inwardly, her eyes widening in shock. "He was speaking to me, but his mouth didn't move! How's that possible?"
A shiver ran down her spine.
And then, like a bolt of lightning, the truth struck her.
"Telepathy!" She screamed inwardly. "He's Djumara!"
*****
Approximately two hours prior, Djuma had arrived in the city, descending with incredible velocity to avoid detection. He landed on a secluded street, his wings folded and pressed against his back.
Removing his helmet, he cautiously surveyed his surroundings, ensuring he hadn't been spotted. Swiftly, he raised the helmet, and it vanished into thin air.
Clenching his fist, Djuma released a burst of energy. His eyes glowed with an intense red light, and his wings began to retract into his back. The flesh on his back shifted and merged, seamlessly covering the area where his wings had been. In the blink of an eye, he had transformed into a human.
Djuma still wore the pants from the suit he had acquired two days ago, just before Mike's capture. Although the suit itself was long gone, the pants remained intact. His primary concern was to blend in with the humans, and to achieve that…
"I need a cloth," he muttered to himself.
Yes, it wouldn't be good for a normal human to roam around half-naked.
Just then, a familiar figure emerged, running toward him with labored breathing. "Must you let the whole world know of your arrival?" the man scolded.
Djuma instantly recognized the man. "I know you," he said. "You're the NPS agent who tried to attack the Jyuran. Raymond Woods!"
"That's not important at the moment," Raymond exclaimed. "Those kids saved you only yesterday, why are you back again? The whole world now knows about you!"
Djuma's eyebrow shot up, confusion etched on his face. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. Is something wrong?" he asked.
"Yes, everything you did was absolutely wrong!" Raymond snarled. "Bat alien or whatever you are, you're now all over the news."
Djuma stared at Raymond for a moment. He wasn't sure if he'd condone a human a quarter his age scolding him. But if he had something reasonable to say, he'd be willing to let it slide.
"How?" He shrugged.
"How else?" Raymond said, exasperated. "You're caught on camera heading to this location. Many people, including the press, will be here soon. You need to leave!"
And as if on cue, the sound of drones filled the air, and Raymond quickly donned a nose mask to conceal his face. He grasped Djuma's arm and pulled him toward his car, parked a few meters away.
As they sped away from the scene, Raymond's scolding continued. "You could've come at night if you had something to do here. Why must you jeopardize your identity by coming in broad daylight?!"
Djuma, however, didn't seem affected by his reprimand. Instead, he continued to scan the car's interior.
Raymond glanced at Djuma and saw him looking around his car. "What are you looking for?" he asked, taking off his nose mask.
"Something to wear, and something like that," Djuma responded, pointing to the image of a celebrity stuck on the car's window.
"A sunglasses?"
Djuma nodded in confirmation, his eyes darting back to Raymond. "That should help me from being recognized," he said.
Raymond let out a deep sigh. He opened a drawer in front of the car and retrieved a pair of sunglasses, which he handed to Djuma. Then, he pulled over and reached into the backseat, retrieving a neatly folded set of clothes. He handed them to Djuma, who unfolded them to reveal a white t-shirt and a black suit. Without hesitation, Djuma put on the clothes.
When he finished dressing, Raymond ignited the car and drove off. "That's my job's uniform, but you can have it," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. Djuma nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing, his gaze fixed on the reflection of the drones following them through the car's side mirror.
He snapped his fingers, and the drones suddenly changed direction, veering away from the car. Raymond seemed oblivious to this, but his gaze kept darting between Djuma and the road, probably expecting something from the alien.
"You don't have to feel indebted to me, a thank you would do," he said, grinning from ear to ear. But Djuma barely acknowledged him, his expression unreadable.
"Stop the car, I need to get something here," Djuma finally said.
"Why?" Raymond asked. "You're being hunted, man. Why are you still trying to expose yourself?"
"Just stop the car, please," Djuma insisted, his voice giving no room for negotiation. Reluctantly, Raymond pulled over at the side of a large store, the tires screeching softly beside the pavement.