Marvel: The DnD Game Master in the Shadows

“This is such a stupid idea…” 

Or so Robert’s thought of that. Unlike his other friends, he instead chose, or rather, told, to use the backdoor of the garage. Why? To steal. Never mind the fact that this ‘plan’ of Manny’s won’t go well, never mind the fact that it’s enough to just negotiate to make Tombstone stay away from them, no, they also want to steal some money.

Thus, the current scene unfolds with the red-haired figure meticulously manipulating the locks on the rear entrance. Among their motley crew, he boasted the sharpest cunning, even preceding the Jason fiasco. This task was ideally suited for him. Robert had been refining skills like lock-picking, tire loosening, and even the art of machine tinkering since a tender age.

With a soft 'click,' the door swung open slowly. But just before it could fully reveal the interior, Robert swiftly grasped the handle to prevent his presence from being exposed. He peered through the narrow gap that had formed, his keen eyes taking in the scene within.

Inside, no one was in sight—only rows of tools and disused engine parts, all veiled under cloth. The rear portion of the garage appeared rather desolate at the moment, likely due to the commotion unfolding at its front. Robert cautiously eased the door open, careful not to generate any unwanted noise, and cautiously ventured into the building. He glanced around once more, confirming that he had entered the storage room, a repository for hefty tools and old engines. Another door stood ajar on the opposite side, revealing a gathering of men, all with their attention focused on the front of the garage. There, Robert's friends engaged in conversation with a figure who was evidently not Tombstone himself.

Stealthily, Robert made his way toward the slightly opened door, positioning himself discreetly at its side as he peered around the corner. He meticulously assessed his surroundings, noting the numerous motorcycles scattered throughout the area, with toolboxes nearby that could provide cover. And then, his eyes locked onto something specific. In the far corner of the garage, a pair of individuals stood before a desk piled high with stacks of bills, methodically counting and transferring them into a bag—his target.

Silently, he eased his way out of the storage room, slipping behind one of the toolboxes. From this vantage point, he observed his friends being led across the expanse of the garage towards a discrete door, an entrance to a more secluded section. As the door swung open, Robert's eyes fell upon the figure they needed to confront – Tombstone, tending to his motorcycle. The sight of the imposing man set off a wave of nerves within the redhead boy; Tombstone's stature was formidable, his skin an unusual shade of white for someone of African-American descent – a curious anomaly, perhaps from an accident or an instance of natural albinism.

From his concealed position, Robert conducted a head count of the occupants within the building. There were twenty men present, not including those stationed outside. A confrontation here would likely spell disaster, considering they had never truly tested their might against regular individuals.

As his friends disappeared fully into the room housing Tombstone, Robert resumed his movement. Yet, his decision soon revealed itself as an error, as the others re-engaged with their tasks and their attention diverted from the entrance. He had made his task more challenging unintentionally. "Damn," he cursed inwardly, recognizing the need for greater caution in his actions after this.

And so, his focus shifted toward a stack of bills, positioned in a direction he needed to approach. Employing the toolboxes as concealment, he advanced with stealth, timing his steps meticulously to remain undetected by the watchful eyes of the thugs.

His progress, however, met a hurdle in the form of a thug occupied with altering his bike's machinery. The thug's line of sight directly intersected Robert's intended path, leaving him unable to pass without drawing attention. Yet, a closer look revealed the thug's preoccupation – he seemed engrossed in his task, striving to execute it flawlessly.

A distant voice cut through the air, inquiring about the thug's progress. "You finished over there?" The query prompted a nervous response from the obstacle in Robert's way. "Still  working on it!" the thug replied, an undertone of anxiety indicating his desire to impress. An idea formed within Robert's mind – the possibility of capitalizing on the thug's inexperience.

Swiftly scanning his surroundings, Robert's eyes fell upon a stray screw beneath a toolbox. Retrieving the screw, he focused on the fidgety thug, drew a deep breath, and with calculated precision, rolled the screw towards the motorcycle's engine. The resulting 'ting' as metal met metal snagged the thug's attention, diverting his focus from his work.

Wide-eyed, the thug muttered, "Damn, a loose screw?" He pivoted to inspect the engine he had been handling. Robert's relief was palpable as he slipped past the bike, his heart rate calming. However, the thug's investigation was cut short, and he spun around, casting his gaze once again in Robert's direction.

Anxiety surged within Robert, the thug's narrowed eyes hinting at a suspicion that someone had moved through the space.

The thug nonchalantly shrugged, engrossing himself in the engine-repair task once again. Robert's heart raced, and he could feel the cold tendrils of fear crawling up his spine. If they discovered him, there was no doubt in his mind that he'd be swarmed and overwhelmed by these men.

And now, he had placed himself mere feet away from the very thugs who were meticulously counting their ill-gotten gains. His mind raced, seeking a strategy to divert their attention so he could snatch a few stacks of bills and slip away unnoticed.

But, before he could concoct a plan, the entire building quivered as though shaken by an unseen force – a minor earthquake, perhaps. Then, as if in a dramatic twist, the door leading to Tombstone’s private chambers splintered and burst open. From within emerged Larry, a figure fueled by sheer fury. The telltale crimson veins snaking around his body and the palpable waves of anger surrounding him signaled that his [Rage] ability had been unleashed.

"Get over here, you miserable sack of shits!" Larry's voice boomed, his rage echoing through the room. "I'm going to smash your skull wide open!"

An internal curse echoed within Robert's mind. This was about to devolve into utter chaos.