His eyes are cold and ancient. Another cigarette juts from between his lips Someone emerges from a room behind him. A panel of wood explodes a foot from his head Cut to POV of the busboy staring at a smoking pistol at the end of the man's outstretched arm. The hammer is eased forward after a few seconds of waiting for a response. The busboy sprints away and the man continues on.
New shadows form with every pop of light.
He glances at them, but never loses sight of the door at the end of the hall. He'd seen it days ago in a vision. Now, in reality, he's standing before it. Blurred streams of liquid catch the light and sparkle as they move like slugs through the form's hair. The man enters the room.