Demo Hears a Noise

The thud jolted Demo out of his wonderful dream. A dream where he was performing in a pristine Grecian paradise for a platoon of lithe, beautiful Amazons. He rolled out of the lumpy hotel bed and jerked open the nightstand drawer, taking hold of his Desert Eagle in one hand and its extended magazine with the other.

"Now I'm ready for you, mofos," Demo growled. He slapped the mag home and racked the massive slide. His index finger twitched near the trigger well. 

The door collapsed with a monumental crash, accompanied by a primal scream of the goon that shattered it. Easily, he stood six and half feet tall and must've rated as a superheavyweight, arms like oaks and legs like sequioas. A decidedly old-fashioned Louisville slugger in his mitts.