His head hurt, and he couldn't move his legs. Jonathan tried to groan, but all that came out was a dry rasp. Something was digging into his lower back, and his shoulders ached. It was the first time he'd ever woken up on the floor.
"Are these toys really worth anything?"
The unfamiliar voice snapped Jonathan out of his daze. Now he remembered what had happened. Two men in masks had broken into his apartment, intent on stealing his collection. When he'd tried to fight back they'd shoved him to the ground. He'd hit his head on the way down and passed out.
With his wits about him, maybe he could do something to foil the crooks. If only his arm would follow his directions and help him turn over.
"You saw the same posts I did," another voice said. "People pay good money for this junk."
That answered the question of how they'd known to come to his apartment. Jonathan knew he should have resisted the urge to post photos, but the trolls claiming he was lying when he bragged about snagging one of the limited edition one-sixth size replicas had made him so mad.
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Most of his apartment was filled with his collection. From his position on the floor Jonathan could see six different models of mecha, proudly arrayed around his home office workspace. Then it was down to one as a black-clad arm swept the other five into a sack.
A moment later, his view was obscured as a mask-clad face filled his field of view. He could smell the robber's foul breath as he turned to yell at his companion.
"Hey, this guy doesn't look so good."
"What?" came the reply, followed by a series of footsteps that ended just outside of what Jonathan could see. "Is that blood? Shit, we gotta go."
Jonathan knew that he should have been worried, but it felt like a layer of gauze was between him and his feelings. All that he could do was lay there in silence as the two burglars fled the scene, slamming the door behind them.
His eyes stayed fixed on that last mecha. It was the pride of his collection, even if he couldn't sell it for anything like what he'd paid for it. He'd poured thousands of dollars into a custom sculpt, following the pattern he'd seen in his dreams. The result was a stern guardian in silver and blue, it's arms planted on its hips as it looked down on him.
Was that disappointment he saw in its eyes? The edge of his vision was starting to go grey, but Jonathan ignored that and tried to focus. It felt like he was being judged. If he could just stand up, if he could just move, he knew he could prove himself worthy...