For once in Justin's life, for the first, first time since he could remember... he felt fear. Not the kind of fear that is afraid<span style="font-style: italic"> of </span>another, but a fear for the<span style="font-style: italic">safety</span>of another. For once in Justin's life, he felt... compassion. He actually cared what happened to his new-found allies. And he would assure they would remain safe.<br/><br/>Justin surreptitiously jumped in the car, taking no notice of anyone else, and focused solely on the danger that threatened their lives; the patrons of Death who had come from the depths of perdition to kill. For to be corrupted in Nymphetamine was to effectively die, to lose oneself in the flow here was suicide. Rational thought would become obliterated, morality would languish. It was a fate worse than death.<br/><br/>And so Justin did not object when Jack took a course towards the one-way entrance. He knew it would not work; he'd TRIED before. The same results would yield, but he knew that his allies would have to see this for themselves.<br/><br/>It was not until a sound of a blaring pop came from the left that Justin finally noticed the newest addition to the group. "You!?" It was the same woman, the same degradation, he had encountered in the ally. He did not catch her name, though he did not care for it anyways. Justin turned to Jack and demanded, "What is she doing here?"<br/><br/>And it then became apparent what the pop was and where it came from. Someone had shot a bullet, whose course was not intended to culminate into a human but the tires of the car.