Little Black Box.
He got the impression he needed to walk towards this black box. He slowly approached it, was it a test? Maybe it was a bomb, a tragic assassination.
Thom’s steps became heavier with each step.
The box was in front of him; Metal, black, and hot!
“Damn it!” He shouted instinctively, pulling his fingers away as fast as he could. The burn shocked his nerve endings, the hairs on his knuckles were uprooted from pain.
“Low pain tolerance,” the woman spoke to the recorder.
The observant comment irritated him. He ignored his desire to use his shirt to shield his flesh from the flaming metal.
Ignoring the feeling of his skin molding to the outsides, his fingertips slowly opened the box. Inside were two deadly objects: a gun and a grenade.
“Whatever this is, I don’t want a part of it anymore.” He was struck by fear.
The woman went to speak in her recorder. Thom swiftly grabbed her wrist, and pulled the gun from the box to her temple.
Fear slammed him in the chest.
“You are a part of this whether you want to be or not.”