This is a daymare, but....
“Settone, all I’m asking you is why you did it. Just tell me that. That is not negotiable.”
Settone leaned forward in his chair and responded quietly, “In court, I would have an advocate who would determine whether your questions are acceptable. Since I do not have one here, I must fend for myself. If you don’t like that, either provide me an advocate or you can go harass someone else with your questions.”
Mr. Danciellet sat up straight. “You will not speak to me like that young man, or—“
“Or what?” Settone interrupted. “You’ll call in the police?”
“You are a disturbed young man. You will do as you are told!”
Settone made no reply but instead stood up and turned around to open the door. Finding it locked, he turned around again and made his way to the other door.
“Where are you going?” Mr. Danciellet’s tone was frightening, but Settone did not stop. On the other side of the door, however, a friend of Mr. Danciellet’s heard and moved to close the door on Settone. But Settone moved quicker. Settone threw the door in the old man’s face, but he put his hand up to stop the door, and grabbed Settone’s left wrist with his other hand.
That put him over the edge. Settone made a fist and drove it into his enemy’s face. Hard. Again. And again. He started to throw another punch when he realized what he was doing. By now, Mr. Danciellet was standing.
Wordlessly, Settone ran out of the small hallway into the larger corridor. He didn’t slow down for the turn, but just threw up his hands and slammed into the opposite wall. He pushed off of the wall to run to the right—no, he planted his foot down, to the left. He pushed off the wall and sprinted out into the lobby. He could almost hear the conversations going over the walkie-talkies about a crazed kid roaming the halls.
He got to the doors. He threw one open, not breaking stride, and found himself facing a police officer. Already? No matter; he simply shouldered past the surprised officer while running past. The officer fell over. Settone went around a corner of a building.
More officers. The nearest one had a dog. The dog ran at Settone, but it was a small dog, and he simply struck it in the head and it fell to the side. He continued forward and was met by an officer with a club. It was fortunate that hands are faster than clubs, or he would have had Settone. Next came a bigger dog. This one snapped at his fingers. Then Settone got his hand in the dog’s mouth. How fast are those jaws? Surely too fast to draw the hand out, so he thrust his hand further into the dog’s mouth. The animal may or may not understand, but he needed his hand. It was then that he found the muzzle of a pistol beside his head. How do you defeat a gun?
Settone rose from his crouching position taken in the heat of battle as the officer holding the trigger moved up onto the sidewalk. He could hear the sirens in the distance and the loudspeaker announcing its problems to the world. There were spotlights scanning along the clouds and a faint mist brushing his face. The police officer who had him pinned had a victorious grin.
Settone lunged.
Bang.
