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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!”