The fighting dagger slipped from his hand, silently embedding itself into the simulated wood-strengthened plastic floor. The handle vibrated rapidly, then slowly came to a stop.
The room was dead silent.
Fatty was still sound asleep. He turned over, smacked his lips, muttered something incomprehensible, lost in some dream.
Who knows how long passed. "Splash!" A cup of water was poured over Fatty's face. He jolted awake, sat up abruptly, still dazed and confused, "Who—who... what's going on?"
The little kid threw away the cup, backed away cautiously, trembling, "It's me."
"Why did you splash me?... Ah!" Fatty screamed, curling up in the corner of the bed like a violated victim, disbelief plastered across his face, "What's going on?..." He covered his chest with one hand and his privates with the other, looking around in terror, "How did I get here? Where are my clothes?"
The little kid looked helplessly at this shameless Fatty, unsure whether to sigh or self-destruct.
