1. Mark, at the beginning
Mark swung at the him, just missing a lamp post as Rick swiftly side stepped out of range “Lightweight,” Rick sneered as he pulled out a pen knife. Mark fumbled for his with shaking hands, a shout from the crowd made Mark spin, as someone threw him one. Mark, Rick and what looked like Rick’s gang had been thrown out of the King's Arms, so the fight had been moved onto Newcomen street. They had gathered some kind of an audience now.
They circled each other as the world spun around them. Rick went in first, the pocket knife sliced through the air and teared mark’s shirt, leaving a shallow gash down his stomach. Mark sucked in a shaky breath, but he had a feeling the fight wouldn’t end here. He could feel Rick’s gang laughing at him, it was obvious he wasn’t going to win. Mark couldn’t fight, he couldn’t even remember how he got into this one. He just wanted to go home, to sleep off this throbbing headache and to see his girlfriend.
Mark knew he had to fight back somehow if he ever wanted to see anyone again, he had got himself into this mess, so he had to get himself out.
Running was not an option.
He caught eyes with Rick, and suddenly both the men lunged forwards for one and other, but this time it was Mark who did the damage. Ricks body fell limp against the impact of the knife, as they both fell to the ground.
All mark could see was blood. As he looked down he saw his hands were stained with it. The knife was still in Rick’s chest. Mark turned away and vomited. What had he done? A broad man tore his way through the crowd and paused a few feet from the dead body on the floor. He dropped next to Rick's body and a look of sheer hate replaced the devastation on his face. Mark ran and ran as far away as he could. He knew he could never run away from this, the image of the two men on the floor was burnt into his mind.