Bane felt himself growing fatigued, until having his arm yanked, which in turn yanked him back into reality.  Barreling into the back with O' Toole, he drew his revolver as his feet pounded the floor, then steps, at full tilt, a fracas brewing in the room below.<br/><br/>Hitting the rooftop, he shook his head - with this sort of fight going on, it would be niether safe nor tactically sound to eat anyone.  He took a look over the edge, keeping himself low and out of view to get a glimpse of the cultists below starting to pour in.<br/><br/>(First redneck humans, then furs, bigots, now fucking cultists.) He thinks in frustration.  (I didn't even get a good night's sleep...)<br/><br/>"I swear to God, the whole FRIGGIN' world's against us." He rasped under his breath, taking aim and opening silent fire at the one that stood out most - the one shooting his mouth off in back of the mob.