He cracked his neck, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the rain. The deafening sound complemented the deafening silence he'd just left behind. Both were essentially the same, the din never left you.
He turned right and walked leisurely, wiping the water off his eyes and face. If you passed by him, you'd almost miss the tiny muzzle hiding in his palm. He clutched it tighter and walked across the street to the nearest phone booth.
He had already pulled the handle off the hook, when the shopkeeper in the adjacent building started to holler, "Sir, the phone doesn't..."
The teenager ducked in time, more out of reflex than anything else, as the 'thing' flew over his head, barely millimetres away, making a whip-like sound. Maybe that's why he didn't hear the sound of the explosion. When he rose and turned his head around he saw people screaming. He was confused, he quickly turned all around, trying to locate the cause of this chaos, and then he saw it. The body lay below the phone booth across the street, smoke billowing out of it. Then with his heart thumping he turned around, behind him. The head lay against a wall, leaving a messy trail of blood and brains all over it.
From the half open window, a couple of buildings away, the middle-aged ex-intelligence officer and explosives expert, smiled in satisfaction and pulled the bullet-proof vest off his chest. He shook his head, helping himself to the scotch.
"Newbie..kids don't do any homework these days."