The lighter sparks, and the cigarette lights up in my mouth. A soon-to-be dead man kneels in front of me, an obsidian man holding a blade to his neck.

There are no words for two minutes. None need to be said. A short conversation of glances between the myself, the obsidian man, and the dead man. Each calculating risks and rewards.

I accidentally breathe out a puff of smoke in the obsidian man's face, which enrages him. He takes a swing at me, but is swiftly knocked prone by the dead man. I haven't even moved an inch. Before the obsidian man can react, there is a sword plunged through his heart.

My cigarette extinguishes on his lavish armor and I walk home.