“Have you ever disarmed someone at this range?” she asked the guard. “No, I--” She took the guard’s gun, kicked in his knee, and stomped his neck as he hit the ground. His partner froze at gunpoint.

“You’re well-paid private security professionals. I’m an intruder. But you need to ask yourself, ‘Are we good guys or bad guys?’ You can’t always tell. You get your paycheck and take it home. Maybe to your family. You have hobbies. Friends. Ambitions. You’re a normal guy working a normal job, except with guns and retinal scans to get to work.

“You aren’t bad guys. You’re just guys. Your employers? All you know is they pay too well to be government. So judge based on me. I get a shitty government salary for this. I’ll be filing reports in DC tomorrow. I have two kids, Alan and Gertie, and I have pictures. But those are just words. Judge on this: I’m talking, when I could just kill you and move on. I’m the good guy. Trust me.”

“Hk-k-kk-k-kk-khhhhhh.” The downed guard breathed his last. Marty’s eyes widened. His hand twitched toward his gun.

“Godshitfuckit,” she said, and fired. “What a waste of breath.”