You know that you still can't rip a chain in half, at least not without changing into the dreadful crinos war form, which you dare not risk. Fortunately, the deserted parking lot contains an abandoned hammer and a roll pin punch. You get into position, then grit your teeth as your body elongates and your toe bones break and re-knit inside your Doc Martens. No traffic right now: time to get to work.
Three quick blows crack the rusted chain. You drop the hammer and the roll pin punch, slide the chain out from around the front door, then step inside. You watch the road from the safety of the dim showroom, but no one even slowed down. You're clear.
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