Non-classifiable
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Mr. Eyepatch stepped out from behind an old truck. At full speed, I almost speared myself on the huge knife he held waist high in my direction. I managed to throw myself to the side and dodge the knife.
I stopped a few stumbling steps later, turned to face him, and gasped for breath.
He snarled something at me in Russian.
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The skinny dude looked frightened. "I think my boot's stuck," he whimpered.
The bear took another swipe, this time catching the edge of the guy's jeans. They tore easily. The bear grunted deep in his chest. Now the terror stood out on the skinny dude's face.
