During his long association with Chester, Dumas had learned that it was generally better to do what the magician said without asking questions.  So, despite his desire to see what was going to happen, he snapped his eyes shut the instant Chester gave him the command.  And it was a good thing that he did.  Even through his closed lids, Dumas could sense the brightness of the flash.  Then the sound of gunfire followed the light.  Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Dumas cautiously peeked in the direction of the cacophony, and what he saw made the grin reappear on his face.  It was amazing what Chester could do with little preparation and scanty resources.  Of course, minor flaws in the illusions revealed their true nature to anyone paying careful attention -- fortunately, everyone seemed far more focused on running, or screaming, or shooting.<br/><br/>“I’ve never felt more like kissing you,” Dumas confessed.  But instead of acting on that desire, he shoved Chester to the ground, wanting to get him out of the path of any stray shots.  “Stay down.  You’ve done your part.  Now it’s time for me to do mine.”<br/><br/>Remaining behind protective cover whenever possible, Dumas made his way over to the one-sided gunfight.  The men’s tight defensive formation made it impossible to get very close.  Up until this point, Dumas had tried to subdue his opponents without using lethal force, because that was how civilians did things.  But there was no internal debate, nor even a pang of regret, as he aimed his slugthrower and shot one of the Cards enforcers in the head.  Almost instantly, the man dropped to the ground, while his compatriots kept shooting at the illusionary Chessmen -- far too busy to notice that the fatal wound hadn’t been made by a laser.<br/><br/>The second enforcer met a similar fate.  But Dumas had plans for the remaining one.  “Reinforcements!” he shouted as he broke cover and began running over.  He hoped that the man would be desperate enough to accept help from anyone who wasn’t actually trying to kill him.  And indeed, the man seemed grateful for an ally.  Preparing to resume the defensive formation, he turned his back on Dumas.  Swiftly, Dumas snaked his arm around the man’s neck and caught him in a chokehold.  “Drop your gun,” he hissed, “or I’ll squeeze until I crush your trachea.”<br/><br/>It was unclear if the man knew his trachea from him tonsils, but he seemed unwilling to have anything crushed, and obligingly dropped the gun.  Dumas kicked it far out of reach.  Then, using the man as a body shield, he began propelling his captive toward the building’s entrance.  “I think I’m going to try talking to your boss in person.”<br/><br/>But just as Dumas was nearly there, the door swung open to reveal another thug.  And this one held a very familiar person in his grip.  Feeling like someone had just punched him in the stomach, Dumas froze.  For a moment, he couldn’t even breathe -- then a single word forced itself past his lips.  “Mari?” he gasped, his voice a mixture of fear and hope.