DM-R: It's a smoggy Thursday in June. The sun is just setting behind the hills, and you're behind the register at the Jimmy-Mart, currently empty. ***Brian drums his fingers on the counter briefly. DM-R: The fluorescent lights over the snack aisle fizzles irregularly; Jimmy is too cheap to replace it. DM-R: The bell over the door tinkles as the door opens; a woman in her mid-20s leans to open the door with some effort, smiling shyly at you as she enters. DM-R: (woman) "Hi..." She looks around. ***Brian grits his teeth slightly to restrain the reflexive smile in response -- then does smile, in the cursory manner required of his position. DM-R: She walks to the back by the plasticware and seems to be examining them intently. Brian: "...need help finding anything?" DM-R: (woman) "Huh? Oh, no, thank you, I'm fine." She smiles apologetically. DM-R: The bell over the door rings again, accompanied by a thunk, as a tired-looking man in his late-20s or early-30s shoves open the door with too much force, then looks at the door with surprise. ***Brian restrains a twitch. He's a little high-strung, but he's been working here for a while. DM-R: He scans the store, then stalks over to the alcohol. You've seen his type. DM-R: His face is gaunt and movements a little jerky. You recognize the symptoms (and may even sympathize). ***Brian watches the man with an unidentifiable mix of emotions on his face. DM-R: The woman comes to the counter with an armful of some plastic containers, baby food, and a package of Pop-Tarts, placing them on the counter before you, then tucks her bangs behind her ear. ***Brian nods, and begins scanning items. DM-R: (man) "Open the register..." ***Brian blinks and looks up. DM-R: He's standing behind the woman, and a little to your left, pointing a revolver at you. Brian: (under his breath) "Son of a..." DM-R: The woman turns around and shrieks, shrinking back against the counter. DM-R: (man) "SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" DM-R: He looks nervously between you and the door. ***Brian pauses a moment. DM-R: (man) "Open the GODDAMN register!" Brian: "Hey, it's cool, here, I'm opening it." DM-R: He licks his lips nervously. ***Brian turns to the register and presses a button to open the drawer. DM-R: (woman) "Ohgod ohgod ohgod..." ***Brian tries not to move quickly. He's radiating tension. DM-R: (man) "What the FUCK is taking you so long?!" (to the woman) "I said SHUT UP!" ***Brian twitches visibly at the last. ***Brian deliberately reaches in and pulls cash out, stacking it. DM-R: He points the gun at her and she begins sobbing. Brian: "Hey. You want this money? She doesn't have it, it's over here." ***Brian waves the wad of cash (slowly). DM-R: He swings the gun twitchily back at you. DM-R: (man) "Yeah, yeah, good, put it down and step back." ***Brian nods. DM-R: (man) "Step BACK!" ***Brian puts the money down and steps back. DM-R: He reaches for the money. DM-R: He grabs it one-handed, and glances at the door, then begins walking backwards. ***Brian doesn't move. He shakes his head, very slightly, at the woman, hoping she'll stay still. DM-R: (man, looking outside) "Oh shit." DM-R: (man) "Oh SHIT oh SHIT." DM-R: (man, to woman) "You! Get up!" DM-R: (man, to you) "Where's the back exit?" Brian: "It's -- here, it's right over here, I'll unlock it, just don't shoot me." DM-R: (man) *gritting teeth* "I said GET UP!" *hauls her to her feet* ***Brian comes around the back of the counter, head down, submissive. DM-R: He waves you on with the revolver, dragging her with him. ***Brian walks toward the back, trying to think. DM-R: (man) "Fuckfuckfuck FUCK." ***Brian looks at them both. DM-R: She's clearly terrified, but barely daring to breathe. ***Brian relaxes. DM-R: He's looking at you in a combination of fear and impatience. Brian: "Hey, look. I'm really sorry." DM-R: (man) "Just shut the fuck up and open the fucking door." Brian: "It's just... it's not really my choice." ***Brian charges, trying above all else to get between the gun and the girl. DM-R: *BANG* DM-R: Things fade to black as you feel something bite you in the ribcage. DM-R: The last thing you see is the fluorescent lights sputter, and the last thing you hear is "FREEZE! DROP THE WEAPON!" and some popping sounds. DM-R: *beep .... beep* DM-R: *mumble mumble* "...ple fractures, no sign..." *mumble mumble* DM-R: The rhythmic beeping speeds up momentarily, then continues steadily. ***Brian tries to open his eyes, and tries not to make any noise. DM-R: You're in an emergency room, on a gurney. DM-R: There's an oxygen mask over your face, and your shirt has been cut away, replaced by some bloody bandages. DM-R: Your ribs *really* hurt. ***Brian makes a slight groan of pain. DM-R: The room is empty, but you can see various uniformed nurses moving around... so maybe you're not in the emergency room anymore. ***Brian tries to move his hand. DM-R: It's unrestrained. ***Brian says, a bit hoarsely, "...hello?" DM-R: No response. There's a call button next to the bed, though. ***Brian presses the call button, then looks around for the source of the beeping. DM-R: The beeping is in time to your heartrate. DM-R: A male nurse rushes in, concern changing to a smile. DM-R: "Ah, you're awake." He whistles. "That was a real close shave there, buddy." Brian: "...happened?" DM-R: "Here, let me get you some water." He fills a plastic cup from the sink's water filter and hands the cup to you. ***Brian lifts himself slowly to drink, unsure of how badly off he is. DM-R: "Well, near as we can tell, the bullet just barely grazed a ribcage at the wrong angle... or right angle I'd guess you'd say... and deflected away." DM-R: "The robber wasn't so lucky." DM-R: "You've got a couple fractured ribs, but you'll be alright." Brian: "What about the girl?" DM-R: "Hm? Oh, she's fine. A little shaken up, but okay. The police took her to the station for a statement." ***Brian nods. "Okay." ***Brian sits up. DM-R: It hurts, but it's bearable. ***Brian touches his ribs, gently. DM-R: You feel a stab of pain. DM-R: "Woah, careful there." Brian: "Fuck, that hurts." Brian: "How long was I out?" DM-R: "Hour, hour and a half?" DM-R: "Since they brought you in anyway." DM-R: "The doctor will be back soon, probably prescribe some painkillers." DM-R: "After that, Detective Ora wants to get a statement from you." ***Brian grimaces. "Great." DM-R: "Lemme get the doctor." DM-R: He walks out. DM-R: Soon, a short, middle-aged hispanic doctor walks in, clipboard in hand. DM-R: "Hello Brian." He smiles. DM-R: "How are we feeling?" ***Brian is propped up a bit against the wall. He's taken off the oxygen mask. Brian: "I'm feeling okay, except my ribs hurt like hell." Brian: (There's a very slight emphasis on "I'm".) DM-R: "Okay, okay..." He pulls out a small flashlight and shines it in your eyes. ***Brian stares at the flashlight. DM-R: "Take a deep breath... slowly..." ***Brian complies, feeling vaguely belligerent. DM-R: As your lungs expand, the stab of pain in your left side forces you to release the breath. DM-R: "Okay... okay... that's fine." DM-R: He gives you a serious look. "You're very lucky, Brian. Take it easy for a few weeks. No strenuous exercise, heavy lifting, sports, that kind of thing." DM-R: He scribbles on a small pad of paper. "I'm going to prescribe something for the pain. Take as necessary." DM-R: He tears the page off and hands it to you. It says "vrclflbm" ***Brian shrugs. Brian: "verclfubm?" DM-R: He looks at you funny. "Oh! Vicodin." DM-R: "Anyway, I'll send the detective in, and then just talk to the receptionist for your things. Brian: "Okay. Nothing else? Better in a few weeks, probably?" DM-R: "Yes, just let things heal. You should come back if the pain gets worse though." Brian: "Yeah, okay." DM-R: He nods at you with a compressed-lip smile, and walks out. DM-R: A black man in a white polo shirt and slacks walks in, folder in hand. DM-R: "Hello Brian, I'm Detective Ora. I just want to ask you some questions, then you're free to go." ***Brian sits up further. Brian: "Alright." ***Brian suppresses an urge to start explaining immediately. DM-R: "Brian Sun? Age 26?" ***Brian looks slightly defensive. "Yeah?" DM-R: "Do you work at the Jimmy-Mart?" Brian: "Well, yeah, I was -- yeah." DM-R: "Did you recognize the shooter?" Brian: "...no. I don't think so." DM-R: "Okay. Did he ask you for anything?" Brian: "He told me to open the register." DM-R: "Okay. Anything else?" ***Brian thinks. ***Brian shakes his head. "No, just the money. Oh, and the back door. He saw the cops coming, I think, and he wanted a back way out." DM-R: He nods and writes. DM-R: "Did you know the woman before today?" Brian: "...no." DM-R: "Mmhm." ***Brian looks at the detective's eyes for just a moment and then looks back down. DM-R: "Did the robber seem suspicious, prior to asking you for the money?" DM-R: "Anything unusual about his behavior? Anything at all." Brian: "Not suspicious like he was gonna rob me, really... but he was..." DM-R: He's looking at you. Brian: "You recognize the type, they come straight for the alcohol at the end of the aisles. A little twitchy. Maybe just booze, maybe they do other things. Maybe trouble. Never know." Brian: "He was surprised by how hard he threw the door open." DM-R: He puts down the pen. DM-R: "You ever been shot before, Brian?" ***Brian pauses in mid-thought. Brian: "...no? No." DM-R: "You a prayin' man, Brian?" Brian: "Uh, fuck no." DM-R: He chuckles at that. Brian: "Look, everyone's being..." DM-R: "I've seen a lot of gunshot wounds, Brian. And I'll let you in on a little something. I've heard about ribs deflecting bullets *once*. And that was at an angle." DM-R: "I don't have the slug that hit ya, Brian, that's in evidence." ***Brian quiets down as the man talks. DM-R: "The tip was *flat*." DM-R: He gets up to leave. DM-R: "Someone's lookin' out for you, Brian. Maybe you should think about that." DM-R: He leaves. ***Brian twitches his shoulders, trying to alleviate the sudden prickling on the back of his neck. Brian: "Well, fuck."