Antihero

The revelation of Lesandro’s mistaken identity came only after half of his limb was cleaved from his body in a single hack. In an instant the boy had been transformed from mistaken target to innocent to witness capable of testifying against his five attackers, his own disfigurement ensuring the hit on him had to proceed. The seat cushioning had settled in the shape of his body, the steering wheel smooth beneath his palms. At last there came a knock at the door. “About fucking time,” B-Roll called out, backing up, groping behind him for the dead bolt.