“Earlier you said it didn’t matter what your names were, that knowing who you two worked for was enough,” La Espina said, still groping the katana almost absentmindedly. “Well, you were right about that. I don’t need your names for the both of you to send a very detailed message from me, to your company. The message is this: We are done doing business, finished! We are tired of being fucked over, paying so much for so little! And as I said, I don’t need your names to send that message. They will get it, loud and clear... piece by piece! Maybe this one’s head would be a good place to start...” He poked Sheri roughly with the scabbard, continuing. “...and if they didn’t get the message right away, could always continue to send you two home bit by bit until it sinks in.”

La Espina continued to fondle Deadblood’s katana as he began to bark rapid orders to his men. The two guards advanced with the ropes meant to secure the two of them to the chairs to make good on La Espina’s threats. Sheri gripped the armrest of the ratty old chair tightly as one approached her, and flashed a warning glance at Deadblood, before turning to look across the room, seemingly at nothing.

It was eerily quiet for a moment, and then the bare lightbulb overhead flickered as if the city was experiencing a power brownout. The two guards began to struggle with their weapons, fighting to keep their grip as an unseen force ripped and jerked at the assault rifles, finally wrenching them clean away and flinging them across the room, disarming the men. At that same moment the cheap fiberboard table that La Espina had been sitting at earlier came hurtling across, striking one of the men in the head cleanly and laying him out on the dirty tile floor. Blood began to pool from the gash in his head as he hit the ground where he lay unmoving.

The guard standing beside the fallen man cursed loudly in Spanish, flailing around himself in a panic to retrieve a weapon, any weapon. His heel slid in the mess and he came down hard onto his back. He attempted to scramble back up to his feet only to look up in horror as the ancient 13-inch black and white television set came sailing through the air, the thick glass shattering as it struck him directly in the face, caving it in with a sickeningly wet thud. He was down then as well, leg twitching slightly before his body went limp.

At that same moment the guard who’d been about to bind Sheri’s hands gave a yell as the rope he’d been holding now seemingly possessed by a will of it’s own looped around his neck and began to constrict tightly. He clawed at the rope desperately, unable to slide his fingers beneath the coils despite his best efforts and he quickly joined his partners laying in a heap on the floor, face blue and tongue protruding.

Furniture continued to fly, the bags of guns on the bed sliding off and over towards the door as if attempting to make a break for it on their own. The table that had taken out one of the cartel members began to rise again unsteadily and this time leveled itself towards La Espina himself. He did a double take, eyes practically bulging as he dodged back quickly away from the pair to narrowly avoid the sailing table, and then the katana was snatched from his hand by the same unseen force. It fell to the ground, sliding across the floor to it’s master’s feet.