The sniper took his perch. Two confirmed hits so far from this vantage point. Right across the street from a strip mall. Police cruisers are on scene as panic is everywhere. Helicopters? Here? The county doesn't have that kind of money. Police issue commands, blocking off the street.

A bullet rips through the sky as a shot is heard. A window to a Subway shatters.

The sniper smirks.

This is just easy. I can do this all day, you motherfuckers!

Oh, can you now?

On the rooftop, a motherfucker stands. Robbie Bourbon glares at the active shooter, a thirty pound weight in his hand, cradled against his chin. He completes perfect Olympic form as he hurls this weight which is significantly higher than any suggested by the internet, and it soars through the air. The sniper watches as it clumsily hits him in the face, knocking him flat on his back and breaking his face.

Oh my god, my face!

The sniper turns into a bat shaped mist.

Oh crap, you can't mean...

The mist reforms, and a figure in a black tuxedo with a red ribboned gold medallion with slicked back black hair with gray on the sides stands, hissing at Robbie.

Holy crap, that sniper is Dracula!

Dracula, presumably shooting people in broad daylight to feed and prove he doesn't die in the sun because he was just tricking everybody into thinking that was a way he could die, charges at Robbie. Robbie hits a hip toss on Dracula. Immediately after, Robbie reaches into his trunks and puts a stake through Dracula's heart, once and for all.

I just threw a weight that weighs more than a standard rock for shot putting at great length and silly accuracy to kill Dracula. Welp, I would say it's about time someone did.

Robbie picks up his thirty pound weight and starts to walk away. After several dozen paces along this rather long rooftop, Dracula hisses, the stake not deep enough.

Enough tricks, Dracula!

Robbie hurls the thirty pound weight again super far and dead on accurate, sinking the stake all the way through.

It's finally over, Dracula. Your reign of blood and terror was no match for my incredible and in no way a fluke shot put abilities. Now, up, up, and away!

You hear the sound of an XWF helicopter flying overhead, here faster than emergency response like they knew Dracula was going to become an active shooter or something, and a rope line ladder drops. Robbie grapevines the ladder, hooking a leg through a rung, and the helicopter takes off as police overtake the rooftop and look relieved that Dracula was defeated by Robbie's seemingly perfect shot put skills.