The man steered his black nondescript sedan through the deserted streets. His target tonight was an innocuous house nestled in the suburbs, its resident blissfully unaware of his weeks-long surveillance. A woman, living alone with no brute of a man or vicious dog to guard her. Easy pickings.

He made it inside, the door giving way easily under his skilled hands. He couldn't help but muse on the simplicity of this job. He'd show no mercy if someone stood in his way. It would be easy for him to overpower anyone anyway. It was almost laughable to him. He wasn't just stealing possessions; he was shattering the illusion of safety.

He found himself momentarily distracted by a collection of old photographs on the living room's mantelpiece. Faces of people he didn't know, smiling and happy – it struck a nauseating feeling within himself. "Fuck, if only I had that kind of life..."

The man’s eyes fell upon a metal baseball bat lying against a wall. He picked it up, feeling its weight in his hands, swinging it through the air to test its balance. A perfect weapon for close encounters, he thought. He decided to keep it – it might come in handy.

The true destination was the master bedroom. The man knew that's where the most valuable items would be – jewelry, cash, perhaps even a safe. "Get it together," he muttered to himself. The risk of coming face to face with someone was high, but it was a risk he was willing to take. His gloved hand rested on the silenced pistol tucked in his waistband as he slowly ascended the creaky staircase.