A quiet night in the heart of Canalbo, Bradley has been dwelling in the local pub, drinking a glass of wine, reminiscing about his past. Though this wasn’t just any bar, but a place inside his own home. Ever since his popularity skyrocketed, he’s not found a moment of peace. Young, employed by corporations to put on an entertaining show for the public, he could no longer afford the luxury of a reckless adult life. His eyes fluttered, exhaustion of the day wore him down, and the heaviness of lost emotional bounds wore heavy on his heart. But his senses were brought back when he heard a jingling scream of falling keys, followed by a brief curse under the breath of someone vaguely familiar.
Though lost in the alcohol, his throat burning from the poor attempt to chug down some hard alcohol like an inexperienced drinker, he was - Bradley only knew to find the gun in his drawer and slowly sneak to the staircase. He was used to this, late-night visits from friends who only looked up to him for his fame, or uninvited guests who tried to sniff through his property. But despite all of this, he still felt the trembling hands of his try to hold the grip of the barely-used Glock.
He heard a step, then another, then another two. The person was alone, and their footsteps were paced slowly. Bradley noticed how heavy they felt and that the person was likely wearing boots. Frightened by the idea of an armed intruder, Bradley had barely any courage to walk up the stairs into the hallway, where the intruder had just passed through.
But swiftly, he remembered all of his belongings - his car keys, his bank cards, his wallet, and his identification cards- they were up there. Bradley slowly ascended the staircase, but to his surprise, the hallway was empty, and the intruder left their boots in the mudroom.
Neatly cleaned, the tips of the boots reflected the outside light with such elegance. Bradley walked through the hallway under the assumption that a friend visited, but hesitance carried through his slow walk.
On the other end, someone had already entered his kitchen, and soon, the fridge would open. It was a confined area; his kitchen wasn’t the most fancy, not like he needed one, anyway. Enough of thinking, Bradley took another step forward and shoved himself through the doorframe, raising his Glock up and aiming into the darkness.
“Stop right where you are! Put your hands up! I’m armed! I’m not afraid to use my gun!”
Before him was a dark, much taller figure, illuminated by the fridge. He couldn’t tell who it was besides the deep blue eyes that stared at him through the darkness. But quickly, much faster than Bradley could grasp, the fridge closed, and the intruder shuffled to the side, raising up a very bright flashlight and beaming it right at Bradley.
“Gaah!”
Bradley cowarded back, his fear overwhelmed him, and without even pressing the trigger, he dropped the gun. He only felt his back hit the wall behind him, and he covered his face. That was one very strong flashlight, but after his eyes recovered, he noticed that the kitchen lights turned on, and a loud, hearty laugh sounded from the room.
Confused, but now recognizing who the person behind this stunt was, he rubs his eyes and blinks a few times just to recover from the horrible light.
“..Bronislav! You sucker!”
And there he was, the man himself, now sitting on one of the chairs by the table, eating ice cream straight out of the plastic packaging it came in.
“Wanted to add some protein powder into this bitch, but you almost shot me dead.”
The cop grinned, and he tilted his head while watching the racer walk over to the counter slowly. He was still tense, and Bronislav didn’t intend to frighten him so much, but now, he liked what he had done. It was funny.
“You good? That flashlight is a trick as old as time. You didn’t expect it, did you?”
“Fuck off. What the fuck are you doing in my house? A cop breaking and entering? Are you serious?”
“I just wanted to greet an old friend. Well, if you’d consider us friends.”
An audible sigh, Bradley sat down at the table. His vision was still hazy, but it’d remain that way for the rest of the night, given that just ten minutes ago, he was guzzling down a bottle of liquor all by himself. He was annoyed, but no longer on guard. Bronislav shoved the ice cream to the racer and raised his chin up a little.