A shootout

Now that the fog is beginning to clear recent events come back to you in vivid detail. It had been a routine patrol, a couple of traffic stops, and one obnoxious drunk now sleeping it off back at the station. You and your partner were parked up on Main street while you made a snack run. You'd only just gotten out of the cruiser when you heard the shots. A staccato crackle of gunfire followed by a woman's screams. You didn't hesitate, yelling to your partner to call it in you ran toward the danger.

There, just ahead you saw them. Three men emerging from the First National bank. Black masks hid their faces as they haul heavy bags stuffed with cash out into the street. Training had you drawing your gun and yelling a challenge before they even noticed you were there. One of them went for his piece and your gun bucked in your hand sending him sprawling on the sidewalk. Your aim snapped to the other two but it was already too late. They have their own weapons out sending two, three, four rounds slamming into your vest knocking the wind out of you, and then...

Then nothing, the void, and then here.

"Oh, shit" you breathe "I'm hit! I'm fucking hit. Is it bad? I don't feel anything, that means it's bad right? Come on be straight with me how bad is it?"

The old man hesitates, takes a deep breath and looks you in the eye before telling you...