Refuse

"Fuck this," you say, pushing the men away. "I'm not doing this."

"You have to pay your motherfucker debt," one of the men says, grabbing a Glock from the counter and pointing it at you, snarling.

"Now, where were we?"

Calling their bluff, you give them a quick finger before turning and heading out towards the door. Suddenly, you're knocked onto the ground, as just after your ears begin to ring. You press your hand against your shirt, finding its soaked with blood.

Maybe shouldn't have played with fire, there.