Five men. Five guns. Her back against the wall in the dark. She had to talk fast. “You’re well-paid private security professionals. I’m an intruder. But you need to ask yourselves, ‘Are we good guys or bad guys?’ You can’t always tell. You get your paycheck, direct deposit from your company, and take it home. Maybe to your family. You have hobbies. Friends. Ambitions. You’re normal people working a normal job, except with guns and retinal scans to get to work.

“You aren’t bad guys. You’re just guys. Your employers? All you know is they pay too well to be government. So judge based on me. I get a shitty government salary for this. I’ll be filing reports in DC tomorrow. I have two kids, Alan and Gertie, and I have pictures. But those are just words. Judge on this: I’m talking, when a bad guy would be holding a gun to someone’s head. I’m the good guy. Trust me.”

One said, “Can I see the pictures?”

“Sure.” The LED strobe she withdrew blinded them long enough for her to escape.

Rubbing spots from his eyes. “Well, she didn’t hurt anyone. Maybe she’s telling--”

Then he saw the grenade.