Shaw was sitting shivering in the middle of a deserted, trashed-up alley. The sun was shining down brightly on him-yet he felt cold and very, very scared. A figure entered the alley. Shaw sprang to his feet-standing still and tense. Then he sighed. It was Dean, grinning and walking up to him and stopping just in front of him.

Before Shaw could think, Dean swung a punch into the side of his head, sending him reeling into the building on Dean's right.

Shaw hit with such impact that it knocked him out, and he crumpled to the ground.

With his right hand, Dean caught a knife aimed at Shaw's head.

From the back of the alley sauntered the four leaders of the Scar.

"Nice catch," smirked one of them. But don't worry. We'll take care of your little friend after we've dealt with you."

They beat Dean senselessly to back up their threats; then they took turns inflicting wounds that cut deeper than any knife.

Having satisfied an old grudge, the four thugs marched off, assured no one would ever dare violate their turf again.

Or would they?