The sun was starting to set with a brilliant orange and purple display off in the jagged Rocky Mountain horizon. The Colorado Springs Construction Group’s star hitter was on the mound and wore a grimace that swore oaths of violent swinging. The pitcher of AT Systems, Inc.’s team was visibly fatigued.

In left field, Mark crouched down on his toned legs and turned his full attention to the game. He had never made it to the majors, thanks to a motorcycle wreck, so every weekend was his World Series. These corporate softball leagues were his lifeblood.

The pitch changed direction with a echoing clang of aluminum alloy. It sailed into left field low and fast after a quick bounce. Mark was on it like a shot from a cannon, scooping it up with a twinge of stabbing pain and heaving it towards the catcher.

Strangely, Mark’s hand had two bloody holes in it. He looked down and saw a coiled rattler sitting in the high grass next to the chain link fence. It’s hissing mouth dripped with bloody venom and Mark feinted.