Arc tried to flex his fingers, to form a fist, but it was no good. He wasn't sure if his hand was broken or just deeply bruised, but either way it was useless. No matter. Part of the benefit to having circuitry aiding in your motor skills was the gift of ambidexterity. He lifted his weapon in his left hand and moved toward the man whom he'd shot already. He was surprised that he was still conscious, actually. The incendiary shell cauterized the wound immediately, but the pain would have been immense. The fact that he could still manage so much as a chuckle was a testament to his capacity for evil doing. With a scowl he strode forward, the icy gaze still in his eyes.<br/><br/>"She can't," he said, the sound of death welling from deep within him. "But I can. He started at the foot, firing round after round into the brigand's body. From the foot, to the knee, waist, stomach, chest, then, finally, one more to the face. He stood over the now lifeless body, blood covering his clothes. Some had also splattered on his face, but he made no move to clear it. He wanted it there, to show anyone who dare question him that he was not afraid to be a monster. If that was what was needed, then so be it. He'd be the monster so Madison never had to be.<br/><br/>Turning toward the family, Arc stared at them coldly, working out logically whether or not he should hold them responsible for all that had happened. Of course none of it would have transpired if they had just stayed away like they were supposed to, but at the same time they couldn't have known that they traveled with East Side murderers.<br/><br/>"Get out of here.  NOW!" Arc fired a shot into the air. "NOW! Get the fuck out of here! Go!" They still lacked supplies, but what kept them there was fear. The old man was paralyzed by it. He'd already killed one, but he couldn't even bring his arm up to defend them now, if he had to. Arc did not threaten them, but the anger and hatred in his voice was warning enough.