A THIN PANE OF GLASS yielded to the strike of a garbage can, crumbling, raining shards upon the concrete and storefront, and the alarm screamed. A symphony of plinks sounded in the night as the pieces settled, crunched beneath his advance. A heavy boot perched at the lip of the window frame, and the black-clad assailant boosted himself inside. Now, both feet firmly on ground, he took his sweet time scanning the displays; cases upon cases of firearms, from the heavy-hitters to your one-handed peashooters.
If they weren’t gonna give him something to work with, he’d do it himself.
A creak of leather accented the slow pivot of his regard toward the rear of the store, and so he stepped, making for the counter– behind it, a wall lined with rifles, and shotguns. Likely none as good as his own, but it’d do for now. Raking a keen gaze over the selection, he reached, seizing a 12 gauge and weighing it in a single hand. Looking it over, his note was drawn to yet another.
SCREW IT– may as well stock up while he’s here. Would make this worth the pain in the ass.
Dragging out a duffle bag from behind the cash register and resting it on the counter-top, he cast the shotgun inside with a dull clatter, and after it, more soon followed. The next five minutes or so were occasionally punctuated by a CRASH or S H A T T E R as he left no display untouched, picking out from each what he wanted, paired with their respective ammunition and cartridges. Inspecting the contents of his haul, and consequently satisfied, he withdrew another 12 gauge and its ammo. Loading it up, and pumping it once, the mercenary took aim and blasted the alarm off the ceiling, thus silencing it at last.
Pleased, Reaper zipped up the bag and dragged it off the counter, heading back for the street.
Time for step two– shoot whoever asked questions.
