What a situation.
An angry old guy is pointing a gun at me.
I mean, sure, I could tank the shot if I strengthened my body with cursed energy, but that would be like announcing, Hey, I'm superhuman! Feel free to panic and shoot me five more times!
And honestly. With my wounds, I'd prefer another week in bed.
Also, I don't want to kill anyone. Call me soft, but I draw the line at murdering grandpas just trying to protect their village. Given how this world works, I get it. If some weird outsider kid showed up in my town with a strange past, I'd probably be on guard too.
So, how do I convince him I'm not a threat?
"Look," I started to talk, "I understand why you're cautious. But a random civilian acting weird out of fear isn't exactly a crime. You were a marine, right?"
Colt's face twitches. Okay, he's listening. Good sign.
"You can board up the windows, slap on some cuffs—heck, put bells on me if it helps you sleep at night. I'm just a guy trying to survive."
The room goes dead silent. Colt and his goons stare me down, long enough that I start considering whether I should just make a break for it. Then, finally—finally—Colt lowers his gun.
"Joe," he grumbles, "I'll bring handcuffs. Make sure they make noise. And… If anyone sees him outside unshackled, unattended, or acting strange, you know what's going to happen."
Joe, who has the enthusiasm of a brick, just shrugs. "Yeah."
Then Colt looked back at me. "If you get caught doing anything suspicious, we'll tie you to a tree and practice shooting right on you."
How sweet.
Like that's gonna happen. I bite my tongue before I say something stupid like Yeah, good luck with that. Instead, I nod. "Got it."
Well, that's settled. I'm not getting shot. What is my new priority? Healing up and getting off this island before I end up as the village's personal bag for trainings.
"And Joe," Colt adds, "tell Hana to fix my sniper rifle."
Joe sighs like this is the worst task in the world. "I will."
One of the other guys—who, for the record, has the most punchable face—saunters over, grabs a piece of chicken off my plate, and takes a bite. "Delicious," he says, grinning.
…I hope he chokes on it.
"See ya," the bald one says, and with that, the three of them leave.
The second the door closes, I exhale. "Pfft."
Thomas wipes his forehead with a handkerchief. "Yeah, no peace of mind in my old age."
Joe is still standing awkwardly in the corner, staring at the door like it personally offended him.
"Hey," I say. "Mind untying me? I'd really like to eat before someone else steals my food."
"Ah, yeah. Sure." Joe moves behind me, fiddling with the knots.
To ease the stifling tension that filled the room after the interrogation, I asked. "So—Hana's good at fixing weapons?"
Joe nods. "Yeah. Obsessed with 'em. Anything mechanical, really."
"Huh. Unusual hobby for a country girl."
"Colt got her into it," Joe explains.
Thomas chuckles. "She had a real eye for guns when she was a kid. Colt used to go hunting, and she'd watch. When she turned seven, he gave her his old gun. Been shooting ever since."
Joe corrects him. "She was five."
"Five? Hah! Right, five."
Finally, the rope falls away, and I roll my shoulders. Much better. Now, all I have to do is play nice, heal up, and not give them a reason to shoot me.
The next hour was pure bliss. We swapped stories. There was real, fat, delicious chicken on the plate - though only one leg instead of two, because of that bastard.
And yes, I went to the toilet afterward. A regular toilet. I almost cried.
From now on, this should be easy.
At least I hope so.