I don't know, idiot.

You're a 15-year-old boy. You're walking through the park. It's already deep into the night, somewhere between one and two. Curfew has long since passed, but you don't care. You've had a fight with someone and needed some time alone to cool off. There's not a soul around, only silence and the occasional streetlight casting long, strange shadows.

Suddenly, a man jumps out of the darkness. He's tall, about forty or forty-five years old, and his face and gait make it immediately clear he's not all there. He rushes toward you, grabs your arm, and tries to drag you into the bushes.

Instinctively, you tense up, fear piercing your entire body, but you don't let panic paralyze you. A thousand thoughts race through your head, but your body reacts instantly, reflexively.

Mustering all your strength, you break free, turn around, and knee him with all your might. You aim for the most sensitive spot—between his legs. You hear a muffled crunch, and the man doubles over with a yelp, falling to the ground.