Sullivan grabbed his things and tried to leave, but before he could, two soldiers rushed into the room, pointed their rifles at him and yelled at him in their gibberish of a language.
But he didn't need to know what they were saying. It was fairly clear.
Sullivan dropped his pack on the floor and raised his hands, holding the stone in one of them.
The soldiers zeroed their gaze on what was in Sullivan's hand, then slowly reached for it.
He knew that after they got what they wanted, they were going to kill him. And that was a fact. But what could he do? He was a thief, not a fighter. They had guns. All he had was a stone.
Sullivan sighed, then whispered to himself "I wish ..."
