Randal packed a few more items and pulled on his long trench coat, the inner lining a thin armoring. He donned his fedora and made his way through the shadows to the garage.

“Going somewhere,” a voice asked Randal behind him.

The Special turned, and it was Reynolds standing in the hallway, smoking a cigarette.

“I am,” Randal said simply. He thought it was amazing that even with his own heightened senses, he still didn’t hear the man approach.

Reynolds took a long drag on his cigarette, taking it from his mouth with two fingers of his diminished left arm.