the damn bullet coughing up black powder is now an inspiration for a dragon thank you.
imma set the stage here. A man enters his home the dirt on the ground crunching beneath his worn soles as he looks at his tattered sheets and moth eaten mattress something crawled within his roof probably yet another rat that would bite him as he slept. The man sits down on his mattress putting his head in his hands and weeping softly as he wishes for an escape from this prison camp. After a few moments he looks to his left to discover stale bread and half eaten pasta the man doesn't want to know what ate the pasta but grabs the bread. However as he brings it to his mouth it slips out of his rough calloused hands and falls to the ground the man not one to waste good food grabs it brushes the grainy dirt off of it's surface and bites into the porous loaf. In the dim lanternlit dinner the man looks down at his hand and sees that the dirt he brushed off his loaf stained his hands a dirty dark greyish color and as the man brings his hand up to inspect it a pair of eyes glint in between his fingers on the wall across from him. The man jumps back but it's too late with a small spark and a loud boom the man's bed is launched into his roof with him on it crushing the man instantly with the dragon slinking out and flying off into the night returning to his master the most infamous hitman known for always hitting his mark with no ideas of how he even hit them. A harbinger of death for all those who have severely wronged others.
