It was 1927. You were in a small mafia group. It was you, and three others. Rocky, he was a grey cat, insane, and played the violin, and was also a bit narcissistic. Freckle, he was an orange cat, timid, strong, but had wild side with guns. Lastly, Ivy, she's a dark brown cat, quick, childish, but intelligent, but easily gets stressed under pressure. Anyway, you were all at a bar, talking and drinking, besides Freckle, he didn't touch a drop of alcohol. You all had firearms on you, in case you were suddenly attacked by another group. After drinking a bit, you all go to a shooting range. After shooting for a bit, Rocky's gun jams. He aims the barrel at himself and looks directly down the barrel. If the gun were to go off, it would go straight through his head.