I was sitting in a booth in a small restaurant when it started. The pretty brunette at the register said, "Hello, how can I -" BANG. A deafening report echoed through the restaurant, followed by several screams.
I charged to the front of the restaurant, drawing my concealed HK VP70 pistols as I went. When I got to the front, I found the brunette's brains splattered on the wall and some dusty footprints leading to the kitchen. I ran to the kitchen and entered, VP70s raised at the ready. The staff there knew me, knew I wanted to help, and pointed as one to a door leading to some kind of office.
There, two men were holding Desert Eagles up to Ron, the owner's head. I raised the pistols and sent twin three-round bursts into their heads. Then, I heard Ron cry out, though it was muffled by the fact that his mouth was clamped shut. I'd grazed him.
"Damn it to hell," I muttered under my breath. "Alright, c'mon, bud," I said as I lifted him up on my shoulders. "I'll get you fixed up. I know some people that'll handle this... discreetly."
I couldn't help but think that this was just business as usual - people starting trouble, me killing them, and occasionally injuring innocents accidentally. And to think Kevin wanted me to practice.