A few minutes later, the young man lay sprawled out in the dirt, flat on his back beneath the harsh afternoon sun. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his nose, and a fresh cut on his brow—but despite the beating, his makeshift cloth mask still clung stubbornly to his face.
As he blinked up at the sky, a shadow fell across him, pulling his gaze upward. Standing over him was none other than the round, self-important oaf himself—Hendel—with a smug smirk twisting his face.
"Well, looks like things got messy just like you said," Hendel mocked, hands on his wide hips. "Shame they got messy for you."
He turned with a satisfied grunt and began walking away, only to pause between the looming figures of his two guards. "Get him outta here."
The guards obeyed with little hesitation, each grabbing one of the man's arms and dragging him across the dirt like a sack of garbage. They hauled him a good distance away from the site before unceremoniously dumping him back into the dust.
