It was like, 8:23AM. I had just bought my morning monster, and did my usual meme of taking a tote for medicine to the medicine aisle. And began memeing about amish kids.
"I will now shake the melatonin and hope an amish f@g gets melted." I giggle maniacally.
I shake the bottle, and sense hostility to the distance rise and die very quickly. Into deadly silence.
Then I wander around, checking for work. Which quick stock is just gray totes and stuff on the floor. Unfortunately there was a terrible sign. A tickle me elmo with a toy gun stapled into its hand. I laugh at it, and stare it at it. Confused.
When I feel a gun pressed into my back.
"Are you the Manager? Do No Sale on the register now." Criminal behind Me threatens coldly.
I stand stiffly for a moment. Then remember simulations in my head for what I would do in this moment. It is basically a stupid bet to do this. He can react faster due to his advantage. However, I know a few things.
One, I have groomed myself to where I should melt bullets due to magnesium plus bloodstream plus mushroom spore cloud equals melt bullets with blood mist.
Two, the doctor in me says he's pressed the gun into a bone. The rib behind my heart. It'll hurt, but it should block it even if I haven't groomed myself.
And three, it is like two feet to swing my fist into his arm to at least move the gun aside. Let alone twisting really fast and moving it with the sheer side of my body. Maybe bend my arm to help knock it aside.
So we do step three. It doesn't work. I get shot right above the kidney instead. Hurts like shit, but I'm not a bitch. We punch him in the throat anyway. With the other arm. He was too cocky, he just stood there. He's still standing, doing the Houdini meme of acting like he doesn't feel pain.
In response, I begin wrestling him for his gun. He actually reacts to that, but due to being punched in the throat. He is short of breath, thus making it harder to use his muscles. As your muscles rely on oxygen to be used well. Especially during anaerobic exercises such as combat.
As such, I manage to wrestle the gun from his hand. And unfortunately the edgelord in me wins. I automatically point the gun at his forehead, and pull the trigger. BANG! He's dead, his corpse collapsing to the ground.
I smile triumphantly, until I hear a scream of horror. I turn and see Angela, and I'm like. Fucked. Cause I'm suspicious that she's a Angela of the Church and not a normal person. I would rather deal with prison than the church. They groom you. A lot. For like, years while you work with them.
I drop the gun and take a few steps away from the corpse, towards her. But I stay, like 10 feet back.
"Look Angela, it was self-defense, I was shot too." I chuckle nervously.
I point at my bullet wound. And she stiffens up, angry and honestly slightly amused.
"I think we should review footage and decide what to do with you." she says seriously.
I uh, do a hand motion where I lay down a card. Because I'm too much of a card gamer, and it plays out cause of that and smoking cigarettes and joints and shit.
"Alright hear me out. Can I call a lawyer first? And smoke a cigarette?" I ask nervously.
She glares at me and starts pointing and thrusting her finger at me with every word she rants.
"You're just gonna go out there and get high on your vape, fucking douche. No, stay in the break. And don't vape, you're a murderer."
"But I'm stressed from self-defense." I say sheepishly while giggling.
I hold my hand up, still shaking from the anxiety of combat. It is actually shaking intensely. She looks at it nervously, then at my face.
"You're calm enough to argue though. Why not storm out crying like a baby?" She taunts with skeptic annoyance.
I look at her, amused and dumbfounded.
"You're right, I should kinda do that." I say.
I walk outside after grabbing my vape from my bag at the cashier's desk. My Manager just looks at me, slightly traumatized and stunned.
"Are we shutting down the store, sir? I was shot." I say sheepishly.
Angela is amused by that thought.
"I agree, we should." Clayton says happily.
Our newest employee Clayton steps out from the breakroom. He looks like he was crying from stress as he's red faced. But now we're all grinning except for Sora about leaving.
"No! At best Standy gets to go the hospital! Everyone else stays. I'll uh…" Sora says with angry determination.
He looks in dread at the toy aisle. Where my blood is waiting. And the corpse.
I smile, bitterly amused at the meme I'm about to do.
"So one time I found a corpse outside my house. It costs $3000 in my home state to get a company to dispose of a corpse. And clean the mess." I say, amused like a sick jester.
They all stare at me, traumatized. While I can't even restrain myself from laughing about it. The air becomes intense as they all glare at me about me laughing like an edgelord jester.
I take the excuse now to go outside and smoke. I then call my father. He answers quickly.
"Hey, I got shot. Take me to a hospital, I can't afford the ambulance." I say seriously with a jester's laugh.
"Why did you get shot?" Dad asks suspicious, confused, and traumatized.
"They tried to rob the store. They wanted me to do No Sale on the register, I don't even know what that's for." I say mischeviously. "Don't worry, he's dead."
"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!? I'M SENDING YOU TO JAIL!" Dad yells with traumatized rage and sadness.
"Send an ambulance please." I say quickly, amused.
He hung up by the word "an". I was speaking to empty air. I now just realize there's only a few things to do.
I call 911. They say it costs like, $12,000 for an ambulance here that will take an hour. I tell them to… hold on while I try first aid on myself. I hang up while they argue with me. Without paying attention right after I hear that number.
I go back inside, to the medicine aisle. And just casually begin raiding everything. We got paid the other day, I'll buy them later. I take bandages, a knitting kit from the clothing aisle, disinfectant spray, hydrogen peroxide or some shit for ultimate disinfectant if necessary. And that is it for digging out a bullet.
I try going to the bathroom, but Angela stops me. Which was a tiny bit expected because I suspect her of being an Angela of the church. Which means she should hypothetically want me to help me if she's a good Christian woman.
"What are you doing? You can't even sew that wound, it's under your armpit. You need two hands for that!" she snaps, angry and confused.
I sigh, annoyed. And hold out the bag of medical goods.
"Will you help me then? Or drive me to the hospital?" I ask sheepishly.
Surprisingly we all closed the store. Angela drove. And Sora was in the back with me, sewing my wound up. He was bragging a bit as per usual, but it was honestly cute this time.
"I was a medic during my conscription in the Japanese Army. I can at least do basic stitches, but we need a real doctor to confirm if you need anything else." Sora brags warmly.
Meanwhile, Clayton just went home. He wished us luck, that was it. He had his own car. I do not. And Sora was just nice and rushing us out. He said he had a spare car at home cause he's married and his wife has a job. So she'll bring him back tomorrow.
"So what happened with that customer?" Angela asks, suspicious and somewhat caring.
"He just pointed at me and asked me to do No Sale." I say sheepishly.
"That would've opened the Cash Register. Maybe you should've done that, we try to keep only, $500 in there tops. And you can't open the safe. It could've satisfied him." Angela lectures sternly.
"Yeah but we would've been robbed." I say sheepishly.
"And what if he makes us open the safe? We were there." Sora says with defensive anger.
"Who cares about money that much? It's about our lives." Angela lectures angrily.
We both stiffen up. Him the soldier and me the wannabe Adventurer. Both just sitting there, probably in our heads like "I will never regret killing that man."
But neither of us will say it out loud. Instead I at least lie, I can't confirm for Sora.
"You're right, next time I'll let us get robbed." I apologize sheepishly.
"Yeah." Angela says angrily.
Then she sighs sadly, setting the mood for the rest of this awkward trip to the hospital.