More banging, noisy and metallic, too close for comfort, the main room. His breath was quick and shallow. He reached instinctively for the gun under his mattress and stepped forward into the darkness, barrel first. While he scanned the room with tired eyes, sweeping with his revolver, the dark space was still unfamiliar, a collection of vague black outlines. His movements were calculated, careful and, most importantly, silent, honed over years of training and experience apprehending and eradicating the dregs of society.

Another crash, this time to his right. The tiny front room, murky and claustrophobic, suddenly felt the size of a galaxy, peeling off into the distance. Manolis heard the dull thump of blood in his ears. Steadying his breathing, he stretched out his left arm, feeling the fake wood on the wall, fumbling. The light switch was there, somewhere. It slipped through his sweaty fingers twice before he finally got a grip and flicked it down. He held his breath at the same time, acutely aware that this was the very moment when he was the most likely to discharge his weapon.

The room’s gaudy green and brown interior came alive in the sickly white fluorescent light. Manolis’s retinas worked hard to readjust. The culprit was less startled, blessed with extraordinary night vision. It was a brushtail possum, taking inventory in the cupboards, reorganising pots and crockery to its liking. The marsupial yawned, appearing unperturbed by the gun barrel pointed squarely at its plump little body.

Manolis lowered his weapon and his eyelids. He shambled over to the animal, who was now examining him distrustfully with its black saucer eyes.

‘Hey, little fella. You’re hungry, and are probably wondering what this stranger is doing in your pantry. Sorry about that, I had no choice. Here…’

Manolis tore open a packet of saltines, cracked a few into bitesized pieces on the countertop and stood back. The possum sniffed the air intently before scampering forward and commencing the dry feast, flaunting a short-haired tail with a white tip and flickering its whiskers. The possum’s demeanour of cheeky cuteness left Manolis fascinated and delighted. A city high-rise did not offer such pleasant surprises.

‘I probably shouldn’t do this cos you’ll only be back for more. But a midnight snack is one of life’s great pleasures.’

The possum ignored his host and kept munching on the jagged white square in its claw.

‘Wanna be mates? Just don’t trash the joint and we’ll be sweet.’