A Silent Interrogation

I cornered a fugitive beneath the copper base of the floor lamp. It was a desiccated peanut shell, discarded and hollow, bearing the pale scars of dental trauma. I pressed the muzzle of my sidearm against its cracked dorsal ridge, demanding its origin and allegiance. It offered only empty silence—the classic defiance of a coward. Seeing no strategic value in taking prisoners, I brought my armored boot down across its spine. It yielded with a brittle crunch, splintering into three fragments on the parquet. Another insurgent quietly erased from this sector.