Oriphiel

As soon the two rebels had fallen forward into the building, the officer, who had been lying in wait for them, wasted no time in firing on them. Barely on her feet, the woman rolled gracelessly to the side, evading the onslaught, while the man fired back as he took cover in a large booth to his left. The officer screamed as one of the man’s return shots passed through his shoulder, and he fled into the crowd of people watching the scene with expressions of confused horror. The motorcyclists, both breathing deeply and sweating profusely, took a second to get their bearings and let their weapons cool down. Scanning the interior of the building, the man laughed to himself. Somehow, their road battle had ended up inside of a busy dance club, the air filled with smoke and neon beams of harmless decorative light as music deemed appropriate by IME for public play filled the air, paid for by the patrons’ door charge.

As the glowing red heat indicators on their pistols began to dim, the two motorcyclists stepped out from behind their cover, setting off after the officer. By this time, however, most of the crowd within the club had begun to scramble for the front door, and the motorcyclists had to push their way past them, all while searching for their quarry. As the officer ran up the suspended glass stairway leading to the second level, he spotted the motorcyclists forcing their way through the club, and fired into the crowd without hesitation. The motorcyclists immediately fired back, and the smell of scorched flesh began to fill the air as a multitude of injured bystanders fell screaming to the floor. The officer laughed and continued up the staircase, ducking down to avoid the return fire. As he reached the second level, he stood up straight and prepared to fire into the crowd again, however a particularly bold club goer tackled him from behind, and wrestled with him on the ground for control of his gun.

Seeing the officer get taken down from behind, the motorcyclists wasted no time in forcing their way past the last of the crowd, and dashing for the staircase. Above them, the officer had easily out-grappled his untrained opponent, and fired a barrage of shots into the club goer’s chest as he kicked him away. Scrambling to his feet, he stood up just as the motorcyclists had reached the second floor, and all three immediately exchanged fire. Without any cover, all three of them were pierced by a multitude of shots, and each fell to the floor, as the music in the club finally stopped.

The officer, being hit by the combined shots of both motorcyclists, was all but torn to pieces, and barely alive as he coughed and gazed at the ceiling with half-opened eyes. The man was in similar shape, as the officer has focused most of his fire on him. Trying to get back to his feet, the man felt a burning pain across his torso and legs, and fell back to the ground. Looking to the side, he could see his lover, kneeling on the floor as she gripped her midsection. Though a laser had passed through her ribs, she was able to stand up, and walked slowly towards the officer. Standing above him, she looked into his pained eyes but for a moment, before holding down the trigger of her pistol until she had blasted his head off. And, having done that, she let her gun fall from her grasp, and stumbled towards her lover.

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