His hands moved faster than thought, moving independently of his brain. The gun bucked in his hand with each pull of the trigger, and another man fell to the floor across the room every time. This particular weapon had a nine shot capacity, and nine men had been hit in under three seconds. None of them near Bootsy, he could deal with the closer ones as needed. He'd been more concerned about long-distance attacks from across the room.
The people on the other side of the bar had all reacted to the point of drawing their weapons. A scruffy, tall dude with stringy orange hair covering his face had slipped aside his purple PVC Matrix rip-off trench coat to bring up a compact machine gun to waist level. Bootsy stepped to him and knocked the gun to the side before Neo could fire, all the while other gunshots cannonaded through the bar as all hell broke loose between the two factions of criminals. Bootsy headbutted Orange Hair in the forehead and stayed with him as he stumbled backwards, stunned. Bootsy slipped behind him and snatched the gun from the guy's hands. He brought the gun up to shoulder height, then twisted it once, tightening the shoulder strap around the guy's throat, and pushed one boot against the Keanu wannabe's shoulders and pushed. Hard. It effectively choked the man while Bootsy brought the weapon to bear and pulled the trigger.
Machine guns, for the most part, are garbage for accuracy, but when you are spewing out death at a rate of eight-hundred rounds-per-minute you can be a little less worried about hitting your target. Which is what Bootsy did. He kept the gun flat on the choking man's shoulders and simply covered the far side of the room in a blanket of carnage.
But now the gun clicked impotently and he knew he was out of ammo as the rest of the room took aim at him. It would seem his aggressive gambit was about to fall fatally short with a couple dozen bullets in his torso to serve as a reminder. He had time enough to think, Shit, before the barrage was to be unleashed.