Dexter, earlier that afternoon

Dexter walked down the street, hands in his pockets. The anger he felt from being left at the movie theater by his friends was gone as he realized it was less their fault and more of Samuels and his. He did disappear after leaving to get snacks and Samuel taking his phone assured that he couldn’t contact them in any way. Besides, it wasn’t uncommon for him to just disappear. He’d done it almost monthly.

The Halloween party they brought him to? He snuck off thirty minutes in after getting bored. The Christmas party last year? He left after he saw a game he had preordered released early and didn’t tell anyone. John nearly called the police after he spent over an hour searching for Dexter. There were more examples he could think of, but doing so was unnecessary. He was going to the nearby Best Buy to get himself a new I phone. Once he set it up he was going to call Donald and apologize for his outburst.

“Well now, what do we have here?” A thought reverberated in Dexter's mind in a voice that was not his own but one he was all too familiar with. It was the voice of one of Samuel's goons.

Dexter stopped and quickly looked around, thinking he had heard him speak aloud and not a thought. “If he's here and I spot him, I might have time to get away!” Dexter thought as a heavy hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. “Goddamnit!”

“You gave us the slip last night. I respect a man who knows when to run away,” the goon said, his warm rancid breath sending chills down Dexter's spine as he spoke directly into his ear. “But I don’t respect someone who runs away while I’m having fun.”

“Get your hand off me,” Dexters commanded, his voice causing ripples in the air as a euphoric feeling of power surged through his body.

The goon’s body froze and his hand left Dexter's shoulder. Dexter quickly turned around, his heart hammering in his chest with fear. “No, not fear. Power.” Dexter realized.

That is when Dexter noticed something odd about his tormentor. His face was like that of a dead man. His eyes were as pale as the moon, staring directly at Dexter. His face acne-covered face was completely slack with a little bit of drool rolling down the corner of his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Dexter wondered aloud, his voice sending ripples of air toward the goon.

“This one came here looking to pawn off the phone it stole from you. After spotting you, it decided to attack you after being denied a turn to hurt you last night,” The goon said robotically.

“Wait a minute, can I…” Dexter realized, a smile spreading across his face. “Return my phone to me,” Dexter commanded.

The goon mechanically reached into his pocket and pulled out Dexter's phone and held it out toward Dexter.

“Now give me everything in your pockets,” Dexter ordered, taking his phone back.

Samuels goon, no, Dexter's goon quickly reached into his pockets and pulled out a wad of dollar bills, a spoon, a pack of cigarettes, a pocket knife, a phone, a lighter, and what looked like a bag of weed, and cocaine mixed together, handing them to Dexter.

“You can keep that,” Dexter said, rejecting the bag of drugs and the spoon. Examining the phone, Dexter turned it on and tried to get in but was blocked by a password screen.

“What's the password?” Dexter asked.

“1, 5, 6, 1,” the goon said, listing the numbers robotically.

Logging in the phone, Dexter was surprised to find that the idiot had actually labeled all the contacts in his phone number with their real names, and not strange nicknames. At the very top was Samuel's name highlighted with a text notification bubble.

Got a meeting tonight, most people in the gang will be there. Big money opportunities. Be there and make me look good.

Dexter read the text twice and backtracked a bit through the conversation history. Not once did it mention a location as to where they would be meeting. Thankfully he had a brain-dead goon to ask.

“Where are you and Samuel meeting tonight?” Dexter asked.

“This one meets with Samuel at the abandoned parking lot in the old industrial area. Normally between 10 and 11 at night,” the goon said.

The wheels in Dexter's head began to turn. If he could control one guy with his words, why not more? With a plan in mind, Dexter called his mother and told her that John found his phone and he would be staying out late with friends, much to her delight. His mother always believed him to be a little too introverted for his own good and didn’t set a curfew as long as he checked in often and was home in time to get some sleep and go to school. She believed it was a good way for Dexter to manage his own activity when he would start living on his own.

With a plan in mind, Dexter turned his back on his hypnotized tormenter to get something to disguise himself. He had a meeting to attend tonight and he didn’t have the proper outfit yet. As he walked away, Dexter considered embarrassing the bully, but that might only make things worse. “If only that guy would go throw himself in front of a truck, that way I won’t have to deal with him,” Dexter thought.

“NO, DON’T! STOP!” Someone suddenly screamed.

Dexter turned around just in time to see the goon throw himself in front of a speeding truck as it came speeding down the road. Dexter's eyes went wide as the truck hit the bully dead on, knocking him to the ground and crushing him under the tire like a watermelon. The sounds of screeching tires, metal on metal, and broken bones rang out as the truck skidded to a stop causing a multi-car collision.

“It’s not just with my voice,” Dexter realized with horror. “I can control people with my mind!” However, a deep seeded part of Dexter locked away under the morals his parents instilled in him at an early age smiled with delight.

Donald, Autumn Sky Scrap Yard, the next morning.

Donald woke up with a disgusting oily feeling all over his body. Black grease and tar stained his clothes and hands. Rust particles clung to him like glue. His hole-riddled shirt stuck to his back with sticky sweat and his hair was a nest of metal shavings and what he hoped wasn’t glue sticking clumps of his hair together. His nostrils were assaulted with the smell of melted plastic, burnt rubber, and freshly forged metal.

“Dude, what the hell did you make?” John asked him.

Donald looked up at his friend, who was staring at him with concern. Standing up and looking around, Donald saw the rising sun out of a dusty plastic window. He was currently sleeping on a makeshift hammock strung between the walls of a small tool shack he constructed last night out of sheet metal and rusty pipes.

“Where’s Alice?” Donald asked groggily.

“She went to go get breakfast,” John said. “But don’t dodge the question! What the hell did you make?”

Outside Donald could see what looked like a handmade forge equipped with handmade and repurposed tools and a pit of smoldering, something, next to a broken anvil and barrel of oil. Inside was a tool bench covered in repurposed electronic equipment and next to that was what looked like a power armor rack from Fallout with his creation inside. “Oh hell yeah!” Donald thought at the sight of what he made.

Suddenly, Donald remembered everything. The frustration and anger at the incompetent Detective who refused to investigate a murder. The argument with Frank, and a sudden feeling of his mind-expanding to a limitless degree as he thought of what he could possibly do.

“I just made a way to enact justice,” Donald said, responding to John’s question with a smile.

Even though he was always a Captain America kind of guy, Donald still thought suits of power armor were awesome. On the armor rack, was 6 and a half-foot-tall suit of steel power armor. It looked like a cross between Iron Man and a medieval knight. The armor was the right balance between bulky and form-fitting. Like Iron Man, the suit was shaped like the human body with nothing unnecessary like bulky armor bits and pauldrons like knight armor had.

However, unlike the Iron Man armor, there were no thrusters on the hands, those were located on the chest, back, and feet. Around the wrist were large vambraces with a gun barrel that would extend out the front, a hatch to fire a missile, and what appeared to be small speakers for reasons Donald couldn’t remember correctly.

There was no circle on the chest like the Iron Man armor nor any decoration at all so everyone's eyes wandered to the helmet. It had a boomerang-shaped tinted cyan visor and a faceplate that could separate from the rest of the helmet in case of emergency. The suit had no color other than the dark grey steel it was made of, but Donald still thought it was the coolest thing he had ever seen.

“Donald, this is a dumb idea,” John said. “I know what you’re planning to do.”

“If I don’t do something this city will never change. Maybe if I a vigilante embarrass the police by doing the job they failed to do, then the mayor might get off his ass and do something about all the corrupt cops,” Donald argued.

“Don, think about this,” John pleaded. “You’re normally a cautious guy, where the hell is all this coming from? You’re being reckless!”

“The last time I tried to think things through, a man died!” Donald exclaimed. “No more hesitation! No more waiting for someone else to do something! I have the power to help, and that's what I plan to do!”

John sighed and leaned against the rickety wall of the shack pinching the bridge of his nose. “I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this am I?” he said.

“No, you won’t,” Donald said.

“Fine, go,” John said. “I need time to think.”

Donald got up and walked over to his armor. After taking it in for a moment he shimmied his way behind it, not caring if the jagged metal walls ripped at his clothes or that he was covered head to toe in mechanical filth. This suit was only a prototype anyway, once he was done with it he would repurpose it to make an improved version.

“Wait, where are these thoughts coming from?” Donald wondered. “Once I capture that murderer, I need to take a step back. Confidence is good, but something is making me reckless.”

Pushing those thoughts aside, Donald examined his suit for a way to open it. On the back of the suit was a handle that when twisted opened the suit up revealing its black interior of smooth metal and slightly clean cloth. Climbing inside felt right. The suit perfectly fit Donald like a second skin or an exoskeleton. Since the suit was considerably taller than he was, that meant the arms and legs were also longer than his.

So instead of his hands and feet going into metal gauntlets and steel boots. His appendages slipped into two boot and glove-like silicon molds that went up to his knees and elbows located just behind the armors hands and above the feet. With the clicking of metal, the suit closed and pressurized itself with a hiss of compressed air. John watched with a look of worry and awe on his face but was trying his best to not look impressed with Donald's creation.

“C’mon, you know this looks badass,” Donald said with excitement.

“Cool or not, I still think this is stupid,” John said. “How are you even going to control that thing?”

“I'm not sure how, but the knowledge of how to operate the suit is burned into my brain,” Donald said.

“And that doesn’t concern you?” John asked.

Donald's smile faded under his helmet for a moment. “Yeah, but whatever is going on with me clearly isn’t hurting me. It's doing the opposite,” Donald said, his smile returning. “I feel stronger than I have in years!”

“Look just be careful,” John said. “This isn’t a superhero movie, this is real life. Don’t do anything stupid.”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Alright,” Donald said. “I’ll try to restrain myself, promise.”

With that, Donald activated his thrusters with a thought and shot through the roof of his crappy shack as fast as a bottle rocket and kept getting faster. His suit defied the laws of motion as he didn’t feel the weight of gravity pushing down on him as he kept accelerating faster and faster, rising higher and higher.

“Warning! Max Altitude Reached! I recommend you lower your altitude,” said a robotic voice.

“Whoa! I do not remember building an A.I. for this thing!” Donald exclaimed.

“I was told that might be the case during my creation. My name is Gamma,” the A.I. said.

“Gamma, why did I name you that?” Donald asked.

“You installed Alpha onto you’re phone, and you uploaded Beta into the CCTV camera system and the police system,” Gamma explained.

“Wait, how did I put an A.I. onto a closed circuit system?” Donald asked.

“You neglected to tell me that, but I doubt it was legal,” Gamma said.

“How am I controlling things with my mind?” Donald asked.

“Sensors in the helmet calibrated to your brain can decipher your brain waves so you can change settings on your armor without having to use anything that others could tamper with,” Gamma explained.

“That's both creepy and cool,” Donald said. “Now where should I start looking for this murdered?”

“Alpha has identified you’re target and Beta has found him,” Gamma said.

“They did! Where?” Donald asked.

“The slums, the location is being uploaded to you’re minimap. His name is Clark Adder, he has been linked to numerous robberies in Autumn Sky over the past 3 months,” Gamma said.

“Great, that's good to know. So, how do I turn on my minimap?” Donald asked.

“My mistake, I forgot to enable the heads-up display,” Gamma said.

Suddenly, blue light flashed in front of Donald’s eyes. It displayed the integrity of each armor piece, his height off the ground, the fuel in his rockets, the ammo for his weapons, a map of the city, a compass, four different vision settings, his suit's power, and a crosshair that followed his wrist.

“Whoa!” Donald exclaimed as the amount of information temporarily overwhelmed him.

“I’d recommend you get to the location quickly,” Gamma said. “You only have so much fuel and only 3 hours' worth of power.”

“Right,” Donald said as he saw his fuel was already at 80 percent despite the fact he had only been flying for 10 minutes. That meant he had enough fuel for 50 minutes of flight. More than enough for what he was going to do. “Let's do this.”

Donald shot forward toward the slums at nearly 170 miles per hour. The slums came about after a failed housing project started by a now-deceased billionaire. The billionaire's goal was to create affordable housing for the poor of Autumn Sky and it worked for a little while. However, she made the mistake of entrusting her fortune to her son. He promised to keep her project going while she was on her deathbed, but the second she passed he took all the money set aside for the project along with his mother’s fortune and disappeared.

So it had created affordable housing, but almost all the houses were never finished or never started. Because it looked like a neighborhood where gangs hung out, people avoided it like the plague until it eventually did become gang territory. Police rarely patrol the area, most likely because someone paid the police chief to keep them away. So it quickly became the hub for everything illegal in Autumn Sky. This made it the perfect place to lay low because as long as you didn’t cause trouble in the slums, no one came looking.

Within minutes of flying at full speed, Donald was hovering over the house where the killer he encountered the night before was staying. Houses in the slums were generally falling apart with some looking better or worse than others, but this one was definitely one of the worst Donald had ever seen.

Like most of the houses in the slums, it had the exact same shotgun house style to save money while they were being produced. Its roof was missing most of its tiles and the few that were present were so rotten they looked like slices of swiss cheese. The white paint was peeling off in long strips revealing the rotting black wood underneath. The small front yard it had was overgrown with weeds and grass as tall as a small child. The other houses around it were in better condition with mowed lawns and the white paint was actually sticking to the sides. Some even had freshly replaced tiles on the roof.

“Let's see where you are,” Donald said. With a thought, his vision changed to infrared. Inside he could see what looked like the murderer fidgeting with something at a table.

“Is that him?” Donald asked.

“Yes, I checked the cameras outside his neighbor's house and it caught him entering the house yesterday morning after an unmarked cop car dropped him off. He hasn’t left since,” Gamma confirmed.

“Do you know who it belonged to?” Donald asked.

“No, the camera never got a good look at its license plate and someone erased the CCTV footage for the entirety of the area for the past week yesterday,” Gamma said.

“A little extreme, isn’t it?” Donald asked.

“I do not believe the two are related,” Gamma said. “There was a major power surge from a parking lot in the area last night. It fried the servers before it could back up the camera footage for the week.”

“Remind me to investigate that later. For now, how to get in?” Donald wondered.

“This suit is designed to take the force of high caliber sniper round at near point-blank range,” Gamma said.

“Okay, why are you telling me this?” Donald asked.

“I think doing something like a superhero landing would be a good way to make an entrance,” Gamma said. “After all, those wooden beams holding up the roof on his house appear to be in need of replacement.”

“Oh!” Donald said. “Hey, Gamma, does this thing have a voice modulator?”

Clark, the slums

Clark sat at his crappy dinner table, high as a kite, loading his magnum. Yesterday morning did not go as planned. After nearly getting his arm severed by a shotgun, he accidentally killed the clerk. To make matters worse, the clerk's blood got over all the money in the open register meaning he couldn’t take any of it. The clerk had lied about opening the register with a key! He changed his mind before handing the cash to him and went for a gun instead! Then that really tall girl jumped on the hood of his brand new(ish) truck and somehow she blew out the battery and deployed the emergency brakes.

Thankfully he managed to pay off that cop, what was his name again… Stoney! That was it. He paid off Stoney and got a ride back to his place along with a quick patch-up by the local sawbones now all he had to do was wait a week until it blew over, then he could try a different store. This time, he’ll kill the clerk first and get the money himself.

CRASH!

The ceiling of his house exploded inward sending dust, splinters, and what looked like rats scattered all over the floor. Clark grabbed his gun and pointed it at the dust cloud. As it cleared, he saw what looked like a man made of metal standing right in front of him, his long boomerang eye glowing a bright cyan blue.

“Surrender and turn yourself in to the police or there will be… trouble,” the knockoff Iron Man said with a heavily distorted voice.

“Fuck you ya Robocop knockoff!” Clark screamed, along with other vulgar words.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Clark fired his hand cannon at the metal man but his bullets ricocheted harmlessly off his chest, blowing holes in his walls. Clark might as well use a bb gun since his gun didn’t leave a dent on the shiny steel chest plate. Discount Robocop raised his right arm, a short metal barrel extended out of his wrist.

BOOM!

With a crack of electricity and a sonic boom, the wall next to Clark exploded like it was shot by a tank. Despite the tube only being as round as a quarter, it managed to do enough damage to blow a hole the size of Clark's head in his wall, and through his neighbor's wall, and his neighbor's neighbor's wall. The projectile went clean through 6 houses, leaving a similarly sized hole in each one.

“Surrender! Or the next one goes through you’re kneecap!” the metal man ordered.

Clark dropped his gun and raised his hands. He was high, but he wasn’t suicidal. “Okay, you win! I’ll go to the cops!” Clark exclaimed.

“Actually I have a better idea,” the metal man said. Before Clark could get away, the metal man grabbed Clark by his shirt and picked up his sidearm then proceeded to drag him over to the hole in the ceiling.

Suddenly, fire exploded out from the metal man's boots With a scream, Clark was carried by the man as he flew into the air and out of his house.

Donald

“That went better than expected,” Donald thought as he landed in front of the police station with the murderer he captured shivering with shock and terror.

His landing on the sidewalk scared the crap out of everyone nearby who either ran away or pulled out their phones and started taking a video. Donald dragged the terrified man into the station with one hand and carefully the murder weapon in the other so as to not crush it.

“Hey, that pathetic-looking asshole nearly crashed into my car yesterday!” someone exclaimed.

“Yeah! My cousin’s a police officer and he said that he might have murdered a guy!” another said.

“Didn’t he have some chick clinging to the hood of his truck?”

Soon, people began sharing stories and spreading rumors about who Donald had captured either very loudly or in hushed tones.

“Well, at least they don’t think he’s an innocent guy I’m dragging around,” Donald thought.

As he walked into the police station, people stared at him with awe and uncertainty. Unsure if what he was wearing was actual armor or really good cosplay. Walking up to the counter, Donald gently placed the murder weapon down on the counter and the terrified criminal on the ground.

“Last night a store clerk was murdered in cold blood. This is the man who did it. If you search his house you will no doubt find large amounts of drugs and stolen cash. He will tell you everything you want to know, won't you Clark?” Donald said, directing a stare and a growl toward the whimpering murdered. “I must go now, have a good day.” Donald spun on his heel and left, much to the desk officer's confusion.

“Why the hell am I speaking like this?” Donald wondered. “It sounds all stoic and crap but also kind of stupid at the same time. And who the hell says, ‘I must go now!’ Talk about corny! I gotta start talking like a human being before this becomes a habit!”

Despite having only been in the police station for less than a minute, a crowd had gathered outside along with news crews. The second he stepped out they all rushed towards him asking questions all at once in a deafening roar of voices making them impossible to understand.

“Woah! One at a time, please!” Donald pleaded.

The journalist calmed down and waited to be called on before asking a question.

“You first,” Donald said pointing at a young man in a professional casual outfit.

“Is it true you captured the driver yesterday who had a girl riding on the hood of his truck?” he asked.

“Yes,” Donald said. Already having heard Freya's story. “But that's not the whole story. Yesterday he also killed a man yesterday in cold blood. However, he is now inside the police station along with the murder weapon he used. Hopefully, now that he is captured, justice will be served. That is all I have to say.”

“Goddamn it! I’m still speaking like a weirdo!”

“Wait! Could you at least tell us your name?” another reporter asked.

“Name, I hadn't thought of that,” Donald thought. “Oh, I know!”

“My name is Steel Sentinel,” Donald said. “For years we have been comfortable with corrupt police and an incompetent mayor. I will do the work they are incapable of doing. Now please, for your safety, stand back”

The jets on Donald, no, Steel Sentinels body activated. People instantly made a large circle around him, not wanting to get burned by the blue flames shooting out of his suit. With a boom, Donald shot toward the sky at full speed, cracking the pavement underneath his feet.

“Well done Sentinel,” Gamma said in his usual unemotional robotic voice. “However before you retire for the day, I recommend you find a way to pay for all the property damage you have caused. We want to keep you’re media perception as positive as possible.”

“What did you have in mind?” Sentinal asked.

“As per you’re instructions last night, Alpha managed to hack into the police database. He found several drug kitchens, and Beta managed to dig up some footage of large amounts of cash being transported inside.”

A part of Sentinel told him stealing was wrong, the other said they were drug dealers and no one other than the drug dealers would care. He also doubted the people getting the money would care as long as they didn’t have to pay for the repairs to their houses themselves.

“Alright, mark it!” Sentinel said. “I still have 40 minutes of fuel left!”

It didn’t take long to arrive at the drug kitchen. It was built in the old industrial district. It used to be where almost all factories in Autumn Sky were located until it was discovered that someone covered up the heavy metal poisoning on the land. Every company quickly moved its factories to a new location in the city now called the new industrial district.

The kitchen was located in the remains of an old textile factory. It was an oppressive building that looked more like a prison than a factory. Giant smokestacks sat behind it, their rims black hinting at the years of smoke that once billowed from them. On the top of the factory was an intact skylight.

“Time for a superhero landing!” Sentinel exclaimed as he shot towards the skylight.

CRASH!

Sentinel shot through the skylight with enough force to pulverize the glass and shatter the metal frame holding it together. Sentinel struck the ground with enough force to shatter the concrete floor sending a loud metal clang through the facility as his knee struck the pavement.

“Ow,” he thought. “Not to self, do not land on knees for superhero landing.”

“What the hell?” a drug dealer said. “Where did he come from?”

“Who cares! Kill him!” another shouter.

The drug dealer pulled out a pistol and fired to no effect. The bullet from his gun bounced harmlessly off Sentinel's helmet and stuck a nearby drug dealer in the arm.

“AAAAAAH! YOU SON OF A BITCH” the injured dealer screamed.

“What the hell?” the drug dealer said over the screams of his injured friend. Not understanding how Sentinals suit even did that. “Everyone open fire and help me kill this dollar store Iron Man!”

The roaring sounds of gunfire drowned out all other noise as everyone in the facility began shooting at Sentinel. At first, it didn’t have much effect, but the constant barrage of bullets began to whittle down Sentinel's armor at an increasing rate. Bullets ricocheted off his armor hurting the very people who were trying to kill him. Furniture, drugs, and lab equipment exploded as stay bullets struck them. Finally understanding they were more of a danger to each other than to Sentinel, the dealers changed position so they were no longer surrounding Sentinel and in less danger of being hit by a stray bullet.

Sentinel's heart pounded in his chest as he froze with terror. Then the adrenaline hit, and his fear completely disappeared.

“Alright, that's enough!” Sentinel said. “Gamma what are my nonlethal options?”

“The concussion blasters on you’re wrist, setting them to full power now,” Gamma said.

Sentinel raised his fist as his vambraces changed so that the small speakers took the place of the barrel of the rail gun he shot earlier.

POW!

A concussive blast of cyan energy shot out from the speaker looking things on Sentinel’s wrists, knocking five men back several feet all at once.

POW! POW! POW!

Sentinel traded shots with the drug dealers. They may have had numbers, but he had concussion blasters that he didn’t even need to aim because their spread was so big. What started as several dozens on one, was now five on one as every blast of cyan energy knocked out every enemy it hit. The blasts were so powerful all glass objects in the building either exploded or rattled from the shockwaves. By the time Sentinel was done, every table was broken, every glass object was shattered, every concrete pillar was littered with holes, and every drug dealer was on the floor unconscious or screaming in pain from stray bullet wounds.

With a quick scan, Sentinel found the money locked inside a steel safe whose door was effortlessly ripped off like it was made of tinfoil. Inside were several bags of cash that Gamma said were worth 4 million in total. Taking two bags, valued at around 2 million, Sentinel took to the sky and flew back towards where he captured Clark. As he landed, he received glares of anger from the people whose house was destroyed by him moments earlier.

“The hell are you doing here?” one man asked. His voice seething with anger.

“I came to apologize,” Sentinel said, dropping the bags of cash. “Inside these bags are enough money to fix your homes. Again, I apologize for the damage I caused.”

The man checked the bags, his eyes going wide. “That should about cover it,” the man said.

“Can I trust you will distribute this evenly with your neighbors?” Sentinel asked.

“Not all of us here are thieves, drug dealers, and murderers,” the man said. “Some of us have no place else to go. We take care of each other. This money will get into the hands of people who need it.”

“Thank you,” Sentinel said.

“No, thank you. There might be enough money left over for us to put into improving the conditions of our neighborhood,” the man said.

“Will companies accept this much cash as payment?” Sentinel asked. Suddenly wondering if the cash he took was any good at all.

“Around here, not many people ask questions about that sort of thing, we’ll be fine,” the man said.

“Good,” Sentinel said. “Goodbye.”

With that Sentinel shot into the sky, pleased with the work he had done.

Samuel Smith, The Slums

Samuel watched as the metal man flew into the sky and disappeared in the distance.

“The master must know. The master must know. The master must know. The master must know. The master must know,” a whispered command echoed in his head.

“Master,” Samuel said. “We may have a problem…”

“What is it?”

“Looks like there is a vigilante in town,” Samuel said.

“Doesn’t matter. He won’t be a problem. Stick to your job.”

“Yes Master,” Samuel said. “This one will finish its job.”