Vincent Sindacco staggered out of the small liquor store on legs that felt like jelly. He was lightheaded, and his vision was becoming a cloud of black mist that grew darker and darker by the second. He blinked his eyes over and over to clear the blood that was dripping from the gash in his head out of his eyes and shook his skull in a vain attempt to clear it. The left side of his upper torso felt like raw gasoline had been poured under his skin and lit. Vincent was leaving a bloody trail behind him as he aimlessly made his way to… wherever he was going. His view was obstructed by the blood and lightheadedness to the point of having no clue which direction he was moving in.

Vincent had dropped the stolen bottle of whiskey before he had gotten out the door of the liquor store. As he looked over his shoulder, through the cloud of black mist, he could see the dark and oozing blood that covered a large portion of the front window. The letters on the glass, '24 Hour Liquor Store' , were accentuated by the new red background. He also thought of the short, skinny man clad in a white shirt who had been working as a cashier there. This guy was now laying face down on the counter with a quickly growing puddle around him.

Vincent winced as he was once again aware of the unbearable pain in his left shoulder. A fresh bullet hole adorned his tattered clothes, bleeding heavily. The robbery had gone fine at first. He had walked in, told the guy it was a robbery, and helped himself to what he wanted. After he had emptied the register and taken two bottles of some cheap whiskey he didn't even bother to look at, he had started to walk out the door. Right as his first foot had touched the threshold, the silence of the sleazy shop was shattered as a sonic boom filled Vincent's ears and made them ring violently. The force of a new bullet threw him viciously against the metal doorframe, knocking his head into the edge with a sickening crack. He had begun to fall backwards as soon as the sticky red liquid started to rain down his face. He hazily recalled seeing his blood all over the edge of the doorframe, giving him enough evidence to make the assumption that he'd split his head open on it. Vincent remembered falling backwards and hitting the ground with a startling force.

The cashier was standing behind him holding a handgun, of what kind Vincent couldn't tell. Using all the force he could muster, Vincent rolled over to his right so that he was on his side and lifted his old revolver to face the wannabe-hero. With three quick jerks of the sensitive trigger, the cashier was almost lifted off the floor. The small, yet deadly pieces of lead carried him into the shelves behind the bar. Bottles were knocked off and broken with a tremendous racket. There was a wooden thud as the cashier had fallen face first onto the counter. The memory of actually exiting the shop were very hazy, he just knew that he was outside now

Now Vincent was feeling the effects of the bullet, and he figured he'd lose consciousness anytime now. His foot slipped off the curb now and found himself on the paved road that this store was located on. It caught him by surprise and threw his equilibrium off, causing him to began falling.

The force was amazing, ten times as startling as the bullet he'd been shot with only minutes before. This time, however, there was no pain. Vincent was lifted completely off his feet as the black metal paintjob of a shiny new sentinel slammed into him doing at least thirty or forty. Vaguely he could feel himself sliding across the hood and smashing into the windshield. His body made the glass crack in all directions like a cobweb, and he bounced like a ball over the right side of the car. His body fell back to earth once again, possibly breaking something on the way down, and Vincent didn't move.

He was flat on his back now, off to the side of the road. His chest moved up and down quickly as he struggled to pull air into his lungs. The car that hit him hadn't stopped, and no immediate help could be seen. With his last remaining bit of consciousness, he looked into the sky and examined what his pathetic excuse for a life had become. Fuck it, why does it matter? He let himself fall into unconsciousness.

What a perfect way to make a bad day worse.