While it isn't a gun, Rebecca has rounded the corner with her an arrow notched and aimed right at where 76 would appear to her. By all means, he's more experienced, he should be the faster draw—but in such a stressful situation, Rebecca's premonitions are becoming more rapid, even if they're vague. She sees a gun pointed at her, not the wielder, and it takes her longer than she'd like in her fatigued state of mind to realize that she's just entered a stand-off with the old man from the jungle.

"Sir Seventy-Six—please, it's just me."

Her brow is sweaty and her hands shaky, but she's doing her absolute most not to quiver or back down. She's so terrified to find herself at the end of another weapon after all this time that putting down her own doesn't even occur to her, one twitch and she feels like she'd be collapsing or fading away.