With swiftness borne of habit, the pistols slid comfortably out of their holsters and found their way into her hands.
She was not in the mood for such dealings.
Walking out from behind the disheveled counters, she cautiously stepped around fragments of glass and scoped out the room before entering the reach of the flickering white light that buzzed overhead.
Another noise; she watched as a kettle from one of the less ravaged counters fell clumsily to the floor behind it, hiding it from her sight but filling the entire cafeteria with its clamor.
Perhaps it was a small, stupid one. She could only hope for the least trouble right now. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to shoot…
All coherent thought flew out of her mind when she sidestepped to look at what has hiding behind the counter, turning ideas and strategies into an incomprehensible fuzz that clouded her mind with something between joy and anguish.
The pistols lowered, their owner’s hands trembling.
Cowering inside the oven was a young boy.