Ralph jolted awake at a sound. He saw Heather in an approaching car and excitedly jogged toward it.

Chump, the driver, glanced over his shoulder. "Miss?" he asked.

"Ignore him and drive!" Heather commanded coldly.

Chump obeyed, accelerating past Ralph so swiftly that he narrowly avoided being struck. Ralph was shocked. He saw the gate to her house open, but as he ran after the car, it closed, and he collided with it, the impact jarring his teeth.

The gate's sudden closure left Ralph perplexed and angry. He'd tolerated her before, but this, he decided, was too much. Heather's mercurial nature – alternating between extremes – exasperated him. He kicked the gate, hurting only himself. Then, he noticed something strange: several gun-barrel-like objects protruded from the previously bare fence top.

"Why didn't I see those before? Are they new?" he wondered. He'd forgotten Heather had previously allowed him entry; these seemed unnecessary then. He chuckled, dismissing them as merely decorative. "We're in Hyderland. If Heather dared install real guns, she'd be arrested!"

Convinced they weren't loaded, he challenged them. "If they're real, shoot me! Come on, shoot!" he shouted, pointing at his chest. "If I dodge, I'll change my family name—"

Before he finished, a swoosh cut the air. Something cold grazed his ear, and an arrow landed near his foot. They weren't loaded with bullets; they shot arrows! More swooshes followed. Ralph leaped backward, cold sweat beading on his forehead, then stumbled and fell, a comical sight.

Unsure of the arrows' range, he scrambled back, only turning when he felt safe. He gasped. Countless arrows littered the ground outside the gate, their sharp, dark arrowheads glinting menacingly.