"I like lucky people!"
"So, between you two, the luckiest one will get to walk out of here alive today!"
The short middle-aged man threw the revolver, which had only one bullet left, in front of Harry. He then waved his hand, signaling his men to drag the other person forward.
When the other person was thrown in front of Harry, he was barely recognizable, emitting only groans. All that could be discerned was that he was a young white man. The white man's face was a bloody mess. The strap of a camera hung around his chest, but the camera itself was gone; it was unclear whether it had been stolen or lost.
"Happy!"
Harry, enduring the searing pain in his body, crawled to the bloodied young man's side. Only after confirming he was still breathing did Harry let out a sigh of relief. His companion was Happy, who had once fancied himself a detective.
The fool. He had no idea what kind of job he'd taken on.
