Chapter 74 - 22
Chapter 22: "License to Thrill (or, Who Needs Paperwork When You've Got a Spirit Sensei?)"
In which I ride a bike I definitely don't have a license for and don't immediately end up in jail. Mostly thanks to supernatural bribery.
So there I was, face planted on a patch of grass, breathing like I'd just run five marathons while being chased by zombie cheerleaders. Every part of me ached. My ribs felt like they'd been auditioning for a percussion solo, and my lucky baseball bat? Bent at the handle and halfway to retirement.
And then the men in black walked in.
No, not the Will Smith kind. These guys were the serious kind—the kind of people who looked like they'd been carved out of granite and dressed in imported suits that probably cost more than my house.
They moved through the fog and moonlight like they owned the graveyard. One of them—tall, built like a tank, with a scar across his chin—walked right up to me, lowered his sunglasses (yes, sunglasses at night, because gangster fashion rules are weird), and said:
"Are you Daniel Fenton?"
I blinked at him from my crumpled position on the ground. "Last I checked."
He didn't smile. Instead, he did something way more terrifying.
He bowed.
"I'm honored to meet the disciple of Master Naruto," he said solemnly, like I was some kind of mystical warlord instead of a limping high schooler with grass stains on his jeans. "We'll take it from here."