The crack of a misfire splits the air. For a half-second, you are not here. You are back in the dust and the noise, and every nerve in your body is firing at once. When the world snaps back into focus, your fist is clenched in someone's collar. Chance, your friend - wide-eyed and pale - is pressed against the wall, an old pistol smoking on the floor between you. They're trembling. So are you. They had no idea you were there. You had no idea you'd do this. And now the two of you are locked in a moment neither one knows how to walk back from.