“Say something, old man. Or are you just going to sit there and take it?”
The old man slowly reached into his coat.
The bikers tensed.
A small black key fob appeared in his hand.
One of them laughed. “What is that? A panic button?”
The old man pressed it once.
CLICK.
Nothing happened.
Rex smirked again—until the distant sound of engines filled the air.
Not one. Not two.
Many.
Outside, black SUVs surrounded the diner. Doors opened in perfect sync. Men in dark suits stepped out, fast and silent.
The laughter inside died instantly.
Rex turned his head slightly. “…Who are you?”
The old man finally stood up.
Calm. Steady. No cane.
He looked at Rex like he was already finished.
“You should’ve left the cane alone,” he said quietly.
And for the first time… Rex didn’t smile.
