Worthless Companions
Back at Mickelson's luxurious office, the scar-faced leader, battered and bruised, entered with trepidation. Mickelson, seated behind his imposing desk, glared at him with a mix of anger and impatience.

"Well? What happened?" Mickelson demanded, his voice low and threatening.

The scar-faced leader, still catching his breath, recounted the events in the alley. He spoke of the unexpected turn at how strong Henry seemed to be, detailing how he effortlessly incapacitated the thugs and left him unconscious.

Mickelson's face darkened with each word, his fingers tapping impatiently on the desk. When the scar-faced leader finished, Mickelson erupted in a fit of rage.

"You let a little scum humiliate you? In front of others who saw you fit to be their commander?" Mickelson bellowed, his face turning crimson with anger.

The scar-faced leader, desperate to salvage some semblance of respect, pleaded, "Boss, he was no ordinary man. He fought like a trained assassin."

Mickelson slammed his hand on t
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