Miles - 200 mph fridge

Before I can answer, a grappling hook shoots forth and grips my ankle, and I shriek and claw my way backward along the floor, but it’s no use. I’m being dragged across the carpeted floor past staplers and stress balls and a half-eaten cupcake, and I realize I might have to attack this situation from a new angle.

Instead of pulling against Pigeon, which is a fight I know I’m going to lose, I flip over onto my back, web the ceiling with my left hand for support, and web a refrigerator across the room with my right hand. Pigeon realizes what I’m doing far too late, and by the time they glance in the direction I’m reaching, the fridge is coming at them at 200 miles per hour. They go flying through a cubicle wall, then another, then another, then clean out of the building.

Panic sets in.

Oh god.

Oh god, did I just kill this guy?

***

Chapter 7