He stepped over the black-clad figures slumped by the door and peered into the dark hall. All was quiet. Turning, he assessed the destruction behind him and knew there’d be hell to pay.
There always was.
But this was his life. A life of danger. Of justice. Of fighting scumbags like these, whether in sweltering jungles or ramshackle joints like this.
And he loved it.
A distant voice broke his reverie. It was a voice he knew well, one he couldn’t ignore. Dropping his sword, he ran through the doorway.
Today, his mom was making grilled cheese.
He LOVED grilled cheese.