“Okay, hold on a goddamn minute.” I laugh nervously, slowly backing up away from the armed man.

He stares at me blankly, eyes cold from behind the full-faces gas mask he wears, which I notice is covered in… brightly colored stickers.

The rest of his outfit is dark, a black hoodie, pair of long grey cargo pants, and black boots.

He holds the gun steady in two hands, aimed directly at my face. My back hits the wall, and I shoot a panicked glance behind me.

My breathing is ragged, my heart racing in my chest. I hate the fact that I’m scared.

He nods in my direction. “Put up your hands.” His voice is muffled from the mask, but sounds low and rough, the type of voice that’ll make anyone’s blood freeze.

I slowly raise my hands, unsure what else to do. He just came out of nowhere, honestly. Seriously caught me off guard. There was no warning, no… alarms, no nothing to show that there’s a intruder in the building.

He continues staring me, analyzing me with those dark brown eyes that almost look completely black.

“Why are you here?” I manage with a shaking voice. “What is your goal here?”

“None of your fucking business, that’s what.” He snaps, jerking the small handgun toward me again.

I have never been a smart man. Never one to shut my mouth when told to. ‘You’re as stubborn as a ass,’ my mom used to say to me. ‘And just as talkative as one, too.’ I think she was just angry that her son was just like her, just like my grandmother said.

Sort of a generational curse, I’ve realized.

“So uh,” I start again, glancing to the side over to my desk. “Why here, of all places?”

“What?”

“I mean, why try to ambush here? Pretty sure you’ll have better luck ambushing a farmers market.”

His eyebrows stitch together into a scowl, his already dark eyes seeming to darken more.

“Well,” I start, talking very fast in hopes he won’t just shoot me. “I’m just saying, this place is rather… boring, nothing really to steal except paper weights and-“

“I should just kill you now.” He interrupts, his voice a deadly calm. “That’ll save me the hassle of your smart-ass mouth.”

My mouth snaps shut, but something in me keeps nagging at me to keep arguing, to keep trying to reason with this man. I mindlessly fix my tie, clearing my throat. A dry silence lays between us as he just keeps staring…

“Give me a reason not to kill you.” He suddenly says, gesturing with his gun randomly.

“Um.” I blink at him, startled by this sudden demand.

I stare at him, and again my eyes are caught by the bright stickers on his mask. I notice some Hello Kitty stickers plastered all over, along with a random assortment of other brightly colored stickers.

“Do you have a kid, or something?” I ask, looking in him the eye as I talk. “I noticed the stickers.” I gesture to my own face.

He visibly hesitates, unmoving for a second.

“Yes.” He finally answers. “I have a son. He’s quite fond of stickers.”

I snort without meaning to. “I can tell. How old is he?”

“Turnin’ 7 soon.” He half-nods, seeming slightly proud.

I smile, my eyes going squinty as I do so. A genuine smile, not the fake one. “Awe.” I mumble.

“Me and my hus…” I start, suddenly stopping. I clear my throat loudly before continuing. “Me and my spouse have been trying for a kid, but so far no luck.”

He raises a eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. I notice he’s absentmindedly lowered his gun, so it’s pointing at more of my stomach than my head.

“Ah, we’ve gotten off track.” I half-shrug, running my hands through my hair. “Where was I?”

“Beggin’ for your life.” He says, no hint of humor in his voice.

“Right, right, of course.” I nod.

I pause for a moment, trying to quickly come up with a reason for him not to kill me. I keep eye-contact with him even though I hate it. He keeps glancing away, I notice.

“Ah, I’m a guitarist in a band.” I add. “Not a good band, of course- but don’t tell those idiots I said that. It’s a band we’ve had sense… highschool?”

My eyes slide off him, suddenly distracted by the thought.

“Damn, it really has been that long, huh?” I mutter under my breath. “Almost 10 years of doing shitty covers with a bunch of stoners in a basement…”

I almost forget the current situation, lost in thought. “Yeah, Marv originally started it. He was going dumpster diving, found a butt-load of instruments. His mother was not pleased in the slightest.” I chuckle quietly, remembering how she glared at the instruments like they’d attack her.

“He called us up, we got them cleaned and tuned as best as a bunch of 17 year olds can, argued about who would be on what instrument.”

I tilt my head. “Pretty sure we came up with the name ‘Suicide Squirrels’ by seeing this fat fucking squirrel jump from a rooftop.”

I go silent, lost in the past life I lived so long ago.

I suddenly see the man completely lower the gun. A slow, deliberate motion.

I look back over to him, smiling sheepishly. “Whoops- kinda got distracted.”

He shakes his head, sighing loudly. “Goddamnit,” he whispers, just barely audible.

Stuffing the handgun into his waistband, he turns on his heel, and starts toward the door.

“Tell anyone about this and you’re dead, Paul.”

He slams the door behind him, and I just stand there, frozen. That… worked? How in the hell? I’m not sure how long I stand there, until I suddenly snap out of it, pulling out my phone and dialing Marv.

“Yellow?” He answers causally.

“Marv you won’t believe what just happened…”