Bege looked down at Pintel like he was examining an insect he'd decided to crush for sport.
The grin on his face widened, ugly and satisfied, cigar clenched between his teeth.
"Say goodbye," Bege said pleasantly, raising his arm. "You ugly bastard."
The coat shifted. Metal unfolded.
Pintel's eyes went wide. "Oh—"
Gunfire erupted.
Pintel threw himself sideways, screaming something incomprehensible, and rolled behind Enoy's unconscious body just as bullets tore through the space where his head had been. Wood splintered. Paper exploded. The office filled with smoke, noise, and screaming.
Bege laughed through the pain. "Run, little rat!"
The laughter cut off with a sharp yelp.
Augur's rifle cracked.
The bullet struck Bege in the back, dead center. The mafia boss staggered forward, choking, the cigar dropping from his mouth.
He barely had time to turn.
Jack was already there.
Jack's blade came in from the side, fast and clean, slamming into Bege's chest and sending the massive man flying backward. Bege crashed into the far wall with a thunderous impact, stone cracking behind him as he slid down, leaving a dark smear.
For half a heartbeat, the room went quiet.
Then the doors burst open.
Bege's guards flooded in, submachine guns raised, faces twisted with fury and fear.
"All of you—kill them!"
Chaos exploded.
Ragetti never thinks. He threw himself forward with a wild yell, slamming straight into two men who had just raised their guns.
The guns went off.
Ragetti crossed his arms over his head, bracing for pain, for holes, for death—
Nothing.
The firing stopped.
Slowly, Ragetti looked up.
The two men stared at him in horror.
Ragetti blinked. "Huh."
A body suddenly fell between them, slamming into the floor with a wet thud, riddled with bullets.
Gibbs had grabbed the man mid-charge and shoved him directly into the line of fire.
Ragetti's mouth fell open. "You saved me."
"Move!" Gibbs barked.
Ragetti grinned, eyes gleaming. "My turn."
The two guards fumbled, trying to reload.
Too slow. Ragetti stepped in and punched one. Then the other.
Both dropped.
Ragetti straightened proudly. "Ha!"
Gunfire erupted again.
Another group poured in from the side corridor, bullets tearing into the furniture. Gibbs grabbed him by the collar and dragged him backward. "Down!"
They dove behind a couch just as the room was shredded by bullets.
Augur slid into position beside them, already firing, each shot precise and measured.
Gibbs leaned out just enough to fire his flintlock. One guard went down. Gibbs ducked back instantly as return fire slammed into the couch.
"Damn it, there are far too many!" Gibbs cursed. He leaned out to fire again but ducked back as a bullet grazed his hair.
Gibbs ran a hand through his hair and found a few strands. "Shit!"
"This is ridiculous!" Ragetti yelled, hands clamped over his ears. "You don't bring machine guns to a melee fight!" He was sitting between Gibbs and Augur.
Augur didn't look away from his sights. "I can clear them."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, but I need a distraction."
Gibbs glanced at him, then at Ragetti.
The idea formed instantly.
Ragetti felt it, "No."
Gibbs grabbed one arm.
Augur grabbed the other.
Ragetti's eyes went wide. "Wait—WAIT—"
"Sorry," Gibbs muttered.
They threw him.
Ragetti screamed as he flew through the air, arms flailing, body spinning like an improperly aimed cannonball.
The guards looked up.
Their screams joined his.
Ragetti slammed into them with a meaty, catastrophic impact. Bodies flew. One man hit the wall. Another folded unnaturally. A third was flattened beneath Ragetti like dough under a rolling pin.
Ragetti stood up slowly, patting himself down.
"…No holes," he muttered, relieved.
He looked down.
The man beneath him was comically flat.
"Oh," Ragetti said softly. "Sorry."
A sharp crack rang out.
Ragetti ducked instinctively. "Augur! Where the hell are you aiming?!"
Augur didn't answer. He aimed and fired. But he clicked his tongue as he had almost shot Ragetti. Why was the guy flailing around so much? Can't he just keep still?
The remaining guards dropped one by one.
Across the room, Jack crouched beside Pintel.
Pintel was screaming at a pitch that suggested he was greatly in pain.
"My leg! My leg!"
Jack looked down. The ankle was bleeding. A nasty gunshot wound. Thankfully it was only one hole.
Jack grimaced. "That's unpleasant."
Pintel screamed louder.
Jack leaned in. "I'm very sorry for your—"
Pintel screamed louder still.
Jack sighed, knocked Pintel out with the pommel of his sword, and stood.
Bege was moving.
Slowly and painfully.
The burly man dragged himself upright, blood soaking his coat, eyes burning with hatred.
Jack rolled his shoulders and raised his blade.
"Well," he said lightly, "this has been a productive meeting."
Bege smiled through blood.
"I'm going to enjoy killing you."
"I don't think you should be saying that."