Mercy

As I rode to the station, the darkening clouds mirrored my inner turmoil. My feelings were chaotic, a mix of bittersweet emotions - relief that Samson wasn't invincible, but frustration that he still escaped. I recalled Mrs. Deli's warning, and it dawned on me that it was only a matter of time before Samson took his sweet revenge.

The police station loomed ahead, a typical concrete building with a bustling atmosphere. But as I entered, I was met with an eerie silence. The receptionist, Mrs. Davis, sat alone, her eyes fixed on me with an unsettling intensity. I approached her, asking where everyone was, but she ignored my question and said, "Dear Danny, Sam sends his greetings." Her hand flashed out, gun in hand, and I barely dodged the bullet. My superhuman adrenaline kicked in, and I disarmed her by disassembling her gun. Reassembling the gun, I pointed it back at her.

"What's wrong with you, Mrs. Davis? How do you know Samson?" I demanded, but before I could continue, she clicked a