A well-built guy of about 30, in 501s and a black t-shirt with dark spiky hair and a good bit of scruff, entered the room. "Hey, who the fuck are you?... Did you put me in here? Come set me free, man!" Jeff tried to get a good look at him as the guy just casually walked over to some cabinets and began setting random items on a metal cart. "C'mon, dude, talk to me!" "You don't recall? We shot a few rounds at Razcals the past couple weeks. It's Troy, but my real name's Eric." The laid back dude. Shortly after, we heard a lot of noise from the breezeway. I was about done with my chores and had supper started, when it became quiet out by the garage. I went out to see what had been done. It was just after six. The breezeway was totally open, now, on both sides. The window on the garage wall closest to the house was now a big gaping hole. Clear plastic was tacked in place on the outside, covering the hole. The lattice wall, covered with the ivy, was down. It was covered by some four by. More

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