"That's a nine millimeter semi-automatic pushed against your skull. Don't look around. You just keep driving where you're going."
— Michael de Santa to Franklin Clinton, Grand Theft Auto V
"Behind one of you out there, sitting in a chair, is me with a pistol. If you look, I will shoot you. Also, those are some good-ass cookies you’ve got in your kitchen."
— Corin Deeth III, Kakos Industries
Reese: Give me one good reason why I shouldn't take you out right now.
Elias: I'll give you three. [sound of guns cocking] All pointed at your head.
Elias: I'll give you three. [sound of guns cocking] All pointed at your head.
— Person of Interest, "Pretenders"
"Drop it, dickhead. It's the police."
— John McClane to Tony, Die Hard
Jinnai stopped talking very quickly. Most people do when someone puts the business end of an M1911 .45 caliber pistol to the back of their head. The sharp, clear click of the hammer being cocked just served to underline the implicit threat in the cool kiss of the barrel’s metal against the back of his head.
Buffy sprinted down a total of three floors before she heard someone from above saying, “Hold it, ma’am. Hold it right there. We can help.”
She looked up and saw a brown-haired guy in a grey suit, light blue shirt, and red tie. He had his coat buttoned and she looked, despite herself, for a shoulder holster. “No, you can’t,” she said, and banged her way through another doorway.
There was a click of a hammer all too close to her head. “Yes, we can,” said a soft voice.
Buffy froze and cast her eyes to the left. A gun, sure enough. The old ears weren’t failing her, at least. .357 Magnum, from the looks of it. The guy holding it had black hair, thick and wavy, and was wearing a maroon Brooks Brothers suit. He looked twentyish and was smiling like a wise-ass. No, like a wiseguy.
There was nobody else in the hall she had come to and the windows were heavily curtained.
She could smell the vampire on him.
She looked up and saw a brown-haired guy in a grey suit, light blue shirt, and red tie. He had his coat buttoned and she looked, despite herself, for a shoulder holster. “No, you can’t,” she said, and banged her way through another doorway.
There was a click of a hammer all too close to her head. “Yes, we can,” said a soft voice.
Buffy froze and cast her eyes to the left. A gun, sure enough. The old ears weren’t failing her, at least. .357 Magnum, from the looks of it. The guy holding it had black hair, thick and wavy, and was wearing a maroon Brooks Brothers suit. He looked twentyish and was smiling like a wise-ass. No, like a wiseguy.
There was nobody else in the hall she had come to and the windows were heavily curtained.
She could smell the vampire on him.
Rent-A-Cop: I think you'll find me a little harder to sucker-punch.
Elf: I wasn't planning on punching you.
Rent-A-Cop: Your weapon fires blanks, Lieutenant. What are you going to do, throw it at me?
Ebbirnoth: [from behind] Hello, Officer. Guess what my weapon isn't loaded with.
Elf: I wasn't planning on punching you.
Rent-A-Cop: Your weapon fires blanks, Lieutenant. What are you going to do, throw it at me?
Ebbirnoth: [from behind] Hello, Officer. Guess what my weapon isn't loaded with.
