So I walked into the Parts and Services shop at the Big Red Kawasaki dealer near me. I had ordered the parts for my bike in the early afternoon the previous day form them, and they told me that they would have it overnighted. It was 2pm. I stepped up to the counter and produced my receipt. I asked the sales clerk, "Did my order come in yet?" He checked over my receipt and dissapeared into the back of the shop. A minute or so later he came back out, shaking his head. "Sorry, but it seems like they got all the parts together at the warehouse but didn't have time to ship it yesterday. Or something. It should be in tomorrow morning." I nodded my thanks and walked out of the shop.
Only a minute later I walked back in, weilding my katana, a cold fury seething through my body. 2 weeks! These morons have been holding up my order for nigh upon 2 weeks! First they shipped the wrong part regular ground, then they refused to accept orders over the phone, making me have to go there in person, in leiu of my mechanic, who didn't have time to make the trip himself since his shop is over half an hour away.
The sales clerk stared at me rather dumbly as I swept his head from his shoulders. The fountain of blood splattered the ceiling, and the sound of his body crashing against the counter brought out another guy from an office in the back. He tried to duck back in and reach for the phone, but he wasn't fast enough, as I flipped over the counter and launched a kick into his face. As he staggered back into the door jamb, my cold steel ran through his heart.
The lack of witnesses in the shop spared me any more victims, but the red cloud of anger had not yet evaporated from before my eyes. Leaping out of the door, I ran across the parking lot to the sales shop. Channeling my chi power, I forgoed the door and instead blasted out a window with the palm of my hand. Whipping my blade around, I swung it at the neck of the nearest sales clerk, stopping it micrometers from his skin. The poor fool fainted. From his desk I grabbed up a key. Sheathing my sword on my back, I swept across the show room floor. A lone brave soul attempted to block my path. With a jab to the throat, I crushed his windpipe. Leaving him to fall to his knees, begging for air, I hopped up onto the display stand and straddled a jet black 2004 ZX1000 Ninja. With a twist of the key and throttle, the bike roared to life. Popping the clutch, I shot off the display stand and broke through another window.
And so off I rode into the sunset, leaving death and destruction in my wake. And forever more the event was known as The Big Red Massacre.