The Writers' Circle

Doc looked at the door. He saw a shadow pass along the other side through a frosted glass window. He drew his 45 long colt and aimed it at the door under his desk. He continued to watch the silhouette through the window and saw it raise a pistol. He judged the shape and size of the gun and guessed it to be a Desert Eagle. He crouched behind thew desk and kept his revolver raised.

It was along five minutes before anything happened. The window shattered under fire from an H&K UMP. The rounds went through the glass and destroyed anything in their path, including a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey that Doc had been enjoying. He cursed and fired the revolver through the frame of the door and heard a man scream in pain and drop to the carpet.

Doc looked over the desk and saw his shot glass had been untouched by the rounds. "A miracle!" he shouted as he grabbed it and downed it. He raised his gun and drew its twin from a holster on his waist. He ran towards the door and shot the hinges on the door. The door, freed from it's holdings fell on two men who had been bent over to avoid getting shot. Doc ran up the inclined door and then ducked down and shot both men in the head. 

"Thanks for the help." He said to their corpses as he ran for a window and jumped through. 

He had misjudged the height of the window and screamed "Son of a bitch" as he drooped ten stories and landed in a dumpster in an alleyway. He climbed out of the trash and ran away from the building holstering the revovlers as he did.