As soon as Marco's feet come off the ground, he's cursing inside; this is exactly what his backup should be preventing. The delivery bag still swings from his shoulder, and he clutches at his precious order with one hand while trying to reach into his jacket for his pistol with the other. The fabric's pulling too tight, constricting his movements.

"Hey, dude, you're gonna jiggle all the toppings loose!" he shouts, playing the dumb pizza boy, legs kicking helplessly. "I'm on an order here! You got a problem with my route, you call up the routing office!"