“Alright, let’s get going?” he speaks.
“Going? Where are we going?”
“To my dungeon,” he says with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.
“Your what!?” I blurt out.
He starts heading for the kitchen, and he jogs to catch up. Without a word, he pulls open the side door that leads to the basement.
I went down there when I was exploring. There was no dungeon.
I follow him down the steps and past the shelves of cleaning supplies to a brick wall.
He pushes against the wall, and the whole panel moves.
“No way!” I snap. “A hidden door!”
He laughs. “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”
“It’s kind of is,” I grin.
We walk through the door into an entirely new section beneath the house.
Against one wall is a glass display case. The entire thing is filled with weapons, Kevlar vests, knives, and even swords. All locked away behind a panel that appears to be accessed with a key code.
On the other wall are different types of weapons and training gear. Batons, ninja stars, boxing gloves.
“What in the world is this place?” I ask, stunned.
“It’s the playroom,” he shrugs.
“I see that. Do you know how to use all of these?” I gesture over the gun display.
“Of course. I’ve had training in every single one.”
“Even the sword?”
“Even the sword.”
He ignores the impressive display of guns and opens a small lockable metal drawer, pulling out a handgun. I pout. “Isthat what I’m shooting with? What about this one?” I point to a gold and pearl gun that looks way too big for me to hold in one hand. He laughs. “You can shoot with that one when you’ve gotten the hang of this one,” he says. “That is a lot of guns to handle.”
I pout even more. Not impressed that he thinks I might not be able tohandlesomething.
“I’m a quick learner,” I huff.
“I’m sure you are, but you still need to start at the bottom.”
I sneer at him.
“Come on, follow me,” he says, grabbing a box of bullets and two sets of headphones.
I follow behind him, and he leads me further into the playroom, as he calls it. At the back of the room, I’m shocked to find an entire shooting range set up.
He motions for me to stand in front of him, and I stare down a long, narrow passage with a target hanging in the distance.
“These are mufflers, they’ll help with the sound,” he explains, standing behind me. He places them around my neck. “When you put them on, you won’t be able to hear me very well, but I expect you to wear them whenever you or I are shooting.”
“Ok,” I say.
