Time doesn't slow down when shit hits the fan, it becomes irrelevant, a two dimensional fantasy land that hops on out the window as soon as you jam a gun into another man's temple. Adrenalin boils into your system and jolts your muscles with sporadic bouts of electricity. Tunnel vision sets in. Its just you, the gun, and the man at the wrong end of the barrel. Or in this instance; just Jacob, the gun, and the pharmacist at the wrong end of the barrel. "Hey please man... just put the gun down...I have kids" The pharmacist's mind was frantic, clouded by a narcotic mix of fear and excited shock. Jacob tried to inject his voice with the certitude and authority he didn't posses. "Just get me what I wan't and I wont hurt you" He slowly climbed over the counter, gun trained on the pharmacist. "Faslodex, now, move!" Jacob waved his gun towards the prescription medication.