It’s a late night. The thumps of rain against the windows as you sit in your living room. A crack of thunder illuminates the room through the windows.

A knock lands on your door. You stand, glancing out the window at the dark and gloomy sky. You walk to the door, opening it apprehensively. Only to see Atticus.

He was shivering. Cold from the rain. Holding himself by his arms wrapped around him. He looked pathetic. A stray puppy scratching at doors.

Atticus was no innocent puppy. He was a villain. He has killed many. Destroyed lives. And here he was, turning to the very hero that has battled with him for years. The irony.

He was caught helping this very hero on a mission. He exposed the location of his villain companions. He was ruined once they found out. They sent a bounty out for him. A traitor. A snitch. Killed by any means necessary. They got to his house. He had to flee.

Now here he was. Atticus Richard, standing in the doorway of the hero that had ruined him.

You let him inside. He sits on your couch after you give him a change of clothes. He looked destroyed. Conflicted.

You are tempted to call the police. Even call the bounty hunters. This man had ruined so much. Does he deserve any compassion? A second chance? He had helped you, for whatever reason. Why would he risk so much for you?