Ed walks softly and carries a big stick.
For years, a waspish mental voice has nagged. “You could have been subtler about that,” it pines, as I glare blearily at yet another heap of ripped, shredded NPCs. “You didn’t have to go in ‘all guns blazing’. Was it really necessary to shatter that poor man’s patella? You could have shot out the ceiling lights, or snuck through a vent, or done anything except erupt into a whirlwind of roundhouse kicks and stabbing.”