It's a chilly winter night in St. Louis, and you're standing on a dark street corner – your first task as a new member of the Marigold gang. Beside you is a senior member, some cat person named Mordecai Heller.

He suddenly turns to face you, olive green eyes staring into your soul from behind those glasses of his.

Fix your posture. Your back's uneven. And stop fingering that gun of yours. We have standards here, and proper trigger discipline is part of them.