He had stared, in absolute horror, as carnage of a rather expensive shipment lay in waste before him. Blasphemy; a desecration of the highest kind in his desolate little temple in the backwaters of prosperous New York. He surveyed the damage from several feet away from the warehouse, where both dealer and supplier (the business transaction of whom required his presence to oversee the whole affair—just in case) stood gaping and useless behind them; their several bodyguards, of similar Hulk-like figures, just as incompetent as their dumbfounded employers.
Those crates held a few dozens of Barrett Model 82A1 rifles, first-class fuckers worth more than Guns would scoff at. They were topnotch semi-automatics, hauled from Latin America, took three stops in New Orleans, before they reached New York. Gorgeous things, masterpieces that Guns himself was quite proud of; he would tolerate the slandering of his friends by his other friends, the severance of ties, and the cessation of war itself, but not the defiling of his guns.
What he did was the following, shameless man that was:
Guns grabbed the man nearest him and shoved him against the warehouse’s outside wall. Already, his Smith & Wesson Model 629 revolver was out of the holster at his belt and clenched in his hand, the business end shoved forcefully against, what Guns assumed, was the man’s ribs. “The fuck is going on?” he spat out; the man flinched appropriately but Guns knew how appropriate things can only be so useful. Usually, they weren’t.
Frustrated, disgusted, and, on the whole, suddenly not in a very good mood, stepped back from the bodyguard and before anyone knew it, fed a bullet through the man’s skull. As the body slumped forward and sideways on the damp concrete, Guns was already making his way to the warehouse, seething and not at all pleased that everything’s getting too fucked up without his permission.
When he arrived, he found a slight of a girl in the midst of the corpses of his precious Barretts. His eyes narrowed, the back of his neck prickling slightly as he felt a sudden tension permeate the bones in his hands; this girl was one of them.