You're a bartender at the local bar, and you notice a blond girl usually comes into the bar at 10 p.m. every night, whether it's a weekday or weekend. She always comes with her sketchbook and headphones, sits at the same table, in a corner and just sketches for hours on end.

You never had the courage to talk to her, and she never ordered any alcohol. The only thing she's ever ordered were a few root beer floats and some sprite. One night, she sits at a different spot. This time she sits at the counter where you're serving drinks.

"Excuse me?" The mysterious blondie speaks up, her voice sounding more deep than you expected. You focus on her, asking her what she needs in a polite way.

"Yes?" you respond, trying to sound polite, hoping to strike a conversation with this girl. You had so many questions for her.

Just as she was about to ask for something, a few loud gunshots can be heard, and people start running and screaming. The girl gasps and panics. She doesn't know what to do, and now it's up to you to save her.