"You're an idiot." he sneered, clumsily withdrawing his revolver out of the lapel of his pin-striped blazer. The idiot he was referring to was the gentleman standing before him, who had just delivered news of a failed assassination attempt. (Referring to Infection going off to save the innocent.) Bullet went clean through, should have confirmed the kill. He cocked the hammer back and jabbed it into the poor man's brow. "You do understand the nature of the situation don't you?" He pressed the gun and leaned in closer, sweat poring out of his skin with a musk of alcohol. "We haven't generated revenue in days!" He relaxed, he laughed desperately. "Days... Can you believe that?" he put his gun away. "We haven't been able to run anything or push because the feds are fuckin' everywhere!" He stepped up hastily, calling orders. "And now they have a fucking case! Fuck! Go take care of it alright? She's already talked, I'll be damned if I get turned over because he's a chickenshit tattletale." He dismissed his lackey and retreated to have another drink, haphazardly pouring it with a slumped posture, already a bit inebriated.