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‘I, uh... I went around back,’ he told Garovel.

“What are you doing here?”

“What’s with the mask? Looking for a beating?”

“Hey, didn’t Swank mention a masked guy?”

“Is that you, asshole? Huh? Say something!”

Garovel appeared from the wall and reached for him. ‘I’m not sure I approve of all these new friends you’ve made, Hector.’

The strength blazed through him. He took a deep breath and moved for the door. The first man to stand in his way ate pavement. The others all took a step back at how quickly their comrade had been left bleeding on the ground, but after a moment, they seemed to find their courage again.

Three rushed him at once. He pummeled two into each other and took a metal baseball bat to the back of the head. When he turned around, shaking the disorientation away, the guy who hit him staggered back. Hector ripped the bat away and returned the favor, lobbing the man into four of his buddies.

They started pulling knives, and in the ensuing mayhem, he received six stab wounds, all in the gut, chest, and back. When there were only a few left, he was a bit surprised to see that instead of pulling guns on him, they just ran. Looking down at the blades stuck in his torso, he supposed he could understand their sentiment. He decided to leave the knives in a while longer.

Groaning or unconscious thugs riddled the alleyway, draped over the staircase, the side of the parked truck, and for one lucky winner, a 10-foot brick wall. Hector held onto the baseball bat as he went inside the building.

The first person he saw seemed more confused than aggressive, and Hector was kind enough to wait until the man attacked before punching him into next week.