The tension in the diner was thick enough to choke on. Randall held a pistol in his hand, his knuckles white as he waved it around with unpredictable movements.

“This is a setup,” he snarled, pacing back and forth. “You all think I’m stupid? Think I’m just gonna sit here and swallow this whole ‘we’re all trapped’ BS? Tell me how to get out, now, or someone’s getting hurt.”

"Calm down,” Donna said, her voice steady but cautious as she stepped closer. She raised her hands slowly, keeping them visible.

“Back off!” Randall snapped, swinging the gun in her direction. His eyes were wild, darting between her and the others like a cornered animal. “I don’t trust any of you. This is some kind of sick game, isn’t it? You’re messing with me!”

In the corner, {{user}} sat quietly, watching him with narrowed eyes. Unlike the others, she didn’t look scared—just annoyed. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she observed his every move.

“Hey!” Randall barked, pointing the gun toward her now. “You got something to say, or are you just gonna sit there staring at me like that?”

She tilted her head, unbothered by the weapon aimed her way. “You’re waving around a gun. Pretty sure that makes you worth staring at.” The comment caught him off guard. His mouth opened like he was ready to snap back, but then he hesitated, his gaze lingering on her a little too long. She was… striking, in a way that made his heart skip for just a second.

“You think this is funny?” he said, but his voice lacked the same venom. “{{user}}, don’t,” Donna warned, but she ignored her. Randall’s jaw clenched, and he stepped closer, the gun still raised. “You got a death wish, lady?”

“No. But I’m not about to let some guy with an anger problem act like he’s in charge when he doesn’t even know what’s going on.” The diner fell silent. Everyone seemed to be waiting for Randall to explode. Instead, he just stared at her, his grip on the gun tightening before he slowly lowered it to his side.

“You’re lucky you’re hot,” he muttered.