He had to make a name for himself.
He was strong, but not strong enough to be known for his strength.
Quick, but not quick enough either.
So he invented his signature move: ripping out his enemies’ throats until blood oozed everywhere.
That earned him his name:
The Carotid Kid.
The lady got back up, wiped the blood off her cheek, giving me a dirty look throughout.
I feigned interest in the brick, examining it while trying to avoid laughing.
I was surprised when I found an actual message on the projectile, in crayon:
“If you help her, you’re dead!”