The two men crumpled to the floor like they were little more than dolls; albeit dolls that could speak, and groan in pain. They didn't obey, but that was mostly because they were too busy grasping their wounds; one of them appeared to be unconcious, locked with his hand at his neck, while the other was just rolling around with his hands around the agony that was in his balls. Neither were going to be much help; but either were easy pickings.<br/><br/>Another - Bobby, apparently - was still sat there grinning in the aftermath. He seemed slow on the uptake, though that was at least in part thanks to the pleasure still lingering to fog up his mind. By the time he was slowly catching up with what was going on, he was scrambling to his feet, before running off down the corridor with a bit of a pathetic wail; he left everything he had - clothes included - behind him.<br/><br/>That left just one man standing. He didn't have the gun, which was likely lucky for him because guns made men bold, and boldness in front of Senti verged on suicide. Unarmed as he was, though, he backed up and snatched his credit chit from his pocket, tossing it the floor before him. A knife followed, rattling over the steel grating to land near her feet; t which point he waved his hands. "I ain't got nothin' more..." he muttered, and considering his pants were still slipping down the top of his thighs it seemed he wasn't in the most dignified of positions to be lying.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>