Coffee first.

Eric let out a tired yawn, he'd been up till the early hours of the morning getting sucked and fucked by Lauren which had been draining, plus the early start to the day, with a potentially big day ahead Eric realises there's only one thing that can help him, coffee. He heads to his local coffee shop a block away from his apartment.

Eric rubbed his eyes as he stepped into the coffee shop, the bell above the door jingling obnoxiously. His body ached in the best way possible, Lauren had really gone all out last night, but the early morning confrontation with Mrs. Christie had drained what little energy he had left.

The shop was nearly empty, just some hipster in the corner typing furiously on a MacBook. Behind the counter stood the barista, blue hair shaved on one side, a septum ring glinting under the fluorescent lights, sleeves of tattoos peeking out from her rolled-up flannel. Jess, her nametag read. The kind of girl who’d probably lecture him about fair-trade beans, the patriarchy, why we need communism or some bullshit like that, all while charging eight dollars for a latte.

Eric ordered his usual, black coffee, no frills, and tapped his card. The screen prompted for a tip: 20%, 25%, 30%. He snorted and hit Custom, punching in a 50 cents.

Jess’s eyebrow arched as she handed him his cup. “That’s it?”

Eric blinked. “For a coffee that took you thirty seconds?”

She leaned on the counter, her voice dripping with performative disappointment. “You know we split tips with the whole staff, right? And with rent being what it is-”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Eric’s fingers closed around the gun. If she was that worried about tips, he could make it so she never has to worry about that again.

Jess’s eyes flicked to his movement. “The hell are you-”

“Here’s a better tip,” he muttered, pulling the trigger.

PFFT.

The blast of light filled the café. When it cleared, Jess was gone.

In her place stood a very different barista.