Open the letter.

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You pick up the letter, carefully prying it open. You read it with anticipation, wondering what your uncle had to do with guns. It says:

"Dear Mr. Field, We are pleased to say that your pistol has arrived in the store, and you can pick it up tomorrow. You've already bought guns here before, so you don't need to sign anymore insurance papers and waivers. Bullets are not included with the pistol, you must buy them yourself. But, with you being an experienced gunman, I think you have plenty of bullets on hand, right?

Sincerely, Michael "Mick" James."

You are confused, because you know that your uncle is not that much of a gunman. You put the letter back where you found it, hoping that he won't noticed it was opened. He opens the door, huffing.

"Hey, KC, you made it! Everything alright?" your uncle asks you, using your nickname "KC". You reply with a simple "I'm fine" and walk in, carrying your suitcase in with you. You set it down in the living room and take off your shoes, putting them in the corner. Your uncle slowly walks into the room, limping on his left foot. You ask if he's okay.

"Ah, it's just me and my old age - growin' really affects people like me, kid," your uncle says. Your uncle is pretty old school, and always talks like a cowboy (despite it being the twenty-first century).


Do you:

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