You don't have any way to pay for the item you've picked up, now that you realize your wallet is gone. You also don't intend to return it. You take only a brief look for the clearest route, then dash away from the stall. Before you get ten paces away, you hear the crack of a gunshot and pain shooting through your calf. The stall owner holsters his gun, approaches you, and lifts you roughly to your feet.
The man is twice your size, and you're in no position to fight, so you mutter, "I'm sorry a few times," and try to give the item back. He won't take it, finally just shoving it in your pocket. He's telling you something, but you can't understand what. When he straps your hand to a stained wooded cutting board, you start to get the idea.
The amputation is excrutiating and humiliating. You're discharged from the military, crippled, and with nowhere to go except back home in shame. You've got to decide now what you're going to be for the rest of your life.