We’d gotten a report that seven miners had kidnapped a girl and made her their domestic slave.
So, we took up positions around the cottage and demanded that they release the girl.
When they refused, we tossed in tear gas and stun grenades, but nobody left the building.
“Bring out the tank,” I said, and the breach vehicle rolled up on the front door, caving in the cottage’s walls and roof.
“Well, crap,” I said. “See if there’s any survivors.”
There weren’t any.
“Sorry your majesty,” I told the queen.
“Don’t be,” said the queen, patting her mirror. “Everything’s fine.”