Two minutes is all it had taken before the club began to almost settle. The last of the terrorists were shot down, and now what faced the many inside were the countless arguments, and occasional paranoid individual with a weapon, or those in shock. Cries littered the group, but the sound of fire outside continued; very close to the building. It was a reprieve, but one that may not last as long as many hoped.
The beskar laden hand was slipped through with minimal damage; albeit a certain bruise would form from the temporary grasp, while the barrier offered him the protection he required for those key moments. Rounds would hit, offering nothing more than a watery thud against the metaphysical wall; all before the bar slowly came to a standstill.
Inside, there were numerous injured, even more dead. Few were yelling this or that, profanities on top of curses, while others cried the loss of their friends and family. It had taken such a short time to tear each of them from what they once knew to this hellish landscape; something likely cursed upon them for centuries of misdeeds against themselves. There wasn’t time to think about this however, as Adiara was pushed into another choice.
He could smell the burn skin from blaster fire, and it was spreading. There was a group to his right that attempted desperately to stave off the death of a compatriot from a gutshot he suffered in the middle of it all, his tears mixing with blood from his hands as he desperately attempted to stifle his screams. To his left, the burning shoulder of [member="Katya Shorn"]. Perhaps superficial by comparison, it was blatantly obvious one could help them survive while the other could not; but the cries made by the group would likely draw attention if they kept up for too long. Too many in the crowd were in shock, and simply ignoring them would do no good.
[member="Adiara Drelas"]
With Victor’s gun doing most of the work, a few felled smugglers and terrorists began to fill the gap between them and the main doorway. Step by step, person by person, he would make way over the corpses like the fundamental roadblock they had become; no time to spare feelings for the departed. Between where he was, and where he was hoping to be, the tussles of hair and the disfigured face of Adriana lay on the ground before him. She held no smile, barely any recognition, only a perplexed scowl of pain that she would be buried with.
Why her? Why had this been the result of the night?
Pondering those questions would do Arken no good, as he came to view the outside carnage. A pile of bodies were littered, not only in the main doorway, but outside of it. On the ground were two armored personnel carriers with large rotary lasers on top firing into the crowds in either direction; but in front of the club itself was a single makeshift turbolaser attached to its rear. It was almost flexing under the weight of the device, but it continued to fire upwards as some form of anti-air.
Outside of vehicles, a number of soldiers waded through the crowds, but a number of them faced the entrance he sought to leave out of. They laid down almost constant fire on those who were looking to escape; leaving little option for him and Victor. Perhaps the bot could make it, but Arken wouldn’t stand a chance without some protection, and even that wouldn’t last long if he caught the attention of the vehicles.
He was faced with an option, as the fighting inside almost seemed to slow down to a somewhat tolerable level in only a matter of two minutes; close the door or attempt his escape. Doing so would allow them time, but there was no way to tell how much before someone barged in. Escape, and he leave the rest to die, and risk his own life to the nearly brigade size fortifications made outside.
[member="Arken Lussk"]
Anderit had made it out of the grasps of death once already, but fall from the frying into the fire was as accurate a sentence as any in this case. Darting out of the front door of the apartment made surgery room brought him into a world that was no more friendly that the last. Before him there were crowds of people rushing towards some unknown location, their yelling interrupted only by the passing blaster fire from passing speeders.
He had only a moment to react, as the group pushed him along with them. At the far end that they ran from, a group of soldiers rode on the backs of large transports that fired endlessly into the group. Dead fell by the hundreds, and Anderit was soon to be next. Run with the crowd, or escape through one of the local alleyways? There wasn’t time to think, as the next barrage came dangerously close to destroying him with the others. Perhaps disappear back into the apartment, though his options were certainly limited in there.
Streaks of red threatened to blind him as the air’s seeming rigidity tore at his lungs. He was as close to death’s doorstep as any of them, yet nothing but hell seemed to wait for him.
[member="Anderit Rinaren"]
Largely assisted by [member="Noatyr Moldmerr"] and [member="Tan'yill"], the club’s fighting had begun to slow down. The last shot against a terrorist was laid down by Tan’yill herself, though there was still the glaring issue of the survivors. They bickered and rambled, screamed and cried for salvation, yet none would come without guidance.
Perhaps they were in as good a position as any; as they had cleared the rear exit and stood nearby. They could simply leave, depart to the alleyway and simply ignore the pressing matters the rest face; or they could do something to assist the many. Each could see the droid and his master to the front, firing away out the front entrance, while a doctor moved to assist the downtrodden. Outside there was constant fire; dangerously close to where they had cut out a semblence of safety; but if the screams continued inside there would be only a matter of time before they were raided to clean up the remainders.
In short, they could be selfish or selfless. Help the few, or the many; all down to the instant choice they had before them.
