"So why don't you defy her, if you're that dead set on seeing her done for?" Raice asks.  "That's the sort of thing that ain't making any bloody sense around here!" He suddenly realizes.  Either that, or there have been some serious miscommunications.<br/><br/>***<br/><br/>Arget could see it through his bloody red eyes - the drugs, the packed in calories, slowed the world about himjust a little, his adrenaline leaving time meaningless, pain dulled, the world nothing more than an observation through a long, somewhat safe lens.  Being the junkie he was, was the last concern at the moment.  She threw diagonally, expecting him to dodge.  Instead, he angled himself that he would fall to one side, clearing his targeted shoulder and thigh by throwing himself off balance.  The long handle of the wrench slid through his palm and took the middle dart for him, as he had no time to parry with the unwieldy head of the wrench.  It was no different than taking a salvo of submac bullets from cops, he'd been shot at like that as well.  So much for her expectation for him to stay on his feet.  She would have the high-ground, but he couldn't afford a hit if those darts were drugged.  As he hit the floor, as she drew in close with her next attack, he snatched up the machine gun the wrench-headed guard had let fall - and opened fire in closed space.  General direction meant nothing, he had point blank.  He had power.  He had volume.  She could bring down any attack upon him, if she stepped in any more, even her armor would not stop the rifle he was now packing.  Perhaps her only chance was on the defensive at this point.