You heft your bat and stare at it reverently. I hereby name you... Babe Ruthless. A good, American name. You take the scum out, throw it at the metal to no effect and then take some more from under the cash register. It's like, scum city under there. Really unpleasant, actually. You put it in your pocket, the one that doesn't have the Valium in it. People are fighting among themselves now, mad with terror. Some are making a desperate bid for calm but it's clearly not working and besides, panicking is UNAMERICAN so there's no point helping them.
You run upstairs and find the manager at his desk, shaking violently. There is a Colt 45 on the desk. You walk up to him and salute.
"Sir! Ready to fight for TRUTH, JUSTICE, and the AMERICAN WAY, sir!" The manager stares at you.
"O-okay, son, g-g-good. T-that's good..."
"Those rotten commbies won't stand a chance!"
"Those what?"
You stare at him. The man is clearly a red sympathiser, as you have suspected for some time (alright, you haven't really). You quickly swing your bat at him, breaking his nose and knocking him out! He was a threat to Democracy anyway.
What do you do?
Wearing:
Cashier's Apron
Sensible shirt
Stained but still sensible pants
Sensible shoes
Inventory:
Wallet ($50)
Wrist Watch (8:40)
Valium (too much)
Scum
Sock ($1000)
Wielding - Baseball bat (both hands) (proficient)
Mental State:
Home run! That's the game, commie. No, no. Home run and game over for you, cammie. No, that doesn't work either. Man, do I feel good.