Gunshots. Owen's head had snapped back from the direction that it had been turned, and unlike everyone else who was running away from the sound that was coming from around the corner, Owen ran towards it. He was keeping low, head down as he reached for his own gun, pulling the pistol out of the holster at his side as he rounded the corner just in time to see the car screech around the corner and out of sight.
"Worthless piles of shit!" Owen shouted after the car, waving his own gun in the arm before holstering it back and turning to the crowd, eyes wide as he tried to assess the damage. He dropped to his knees next to the young woman, a heavy frown on his face as he dug a handkerchief out of his inner pocket. It was the best he could do at the moment. "Keep pressure on it," He said, pressing the handkerchief (clean, of course) over the bullet wound in the ribs.
"I'll be back," He said before standing and crossing over to the broken body with bits of flower pot littered around it. Kneeling down next to it, Owen reached out and pressed his fingers against the man's neck, closing his eyes as he exhaled sadly. Too late.