((OOC:  I'll wait to post the guards at HQ until after Heretic posts.))<br/><br/>The five guards having been easily vanquished by Chiro, the door to the roof hung open, showing an empty stairwell.  But both occupants of the roof knew that it was only a matter of time before more guards came, answering the call of the mini-gun.<br/><br/>The grate, shattered beyond recognition, fell in shards away from the concrete that once held it.  A gaping, rough-edged hole now sat in the low concrete ledge.  At the same moment, the mini-gun stopped firing -- the red-hot barrels kept spinning as the gun's self-preservation temperature sensors cut off the flow of ammunition. A few more seconds of straight firing and the barrels would have warped.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>"Gunshots reported from the funeral corridor, my Lady!" the voice from the barracks cried to Alhanda.  "Orders?"<br/><br/>Alhanda's face tightened.  "The Palace is under attack.  Mobilize all guards and drive out the intruders above and below."  She hung up and returned to her bed chambers, donning her ornate silver armor from where it hung on the wall.  She used the routine movements to suppress the desire of her thoughts to erupt into chaos.  The methodical deliberateness with which she fastened, tightened, and adjusted the plates of metal turned her sudden flurry of mental excitement into a bulleted list of ideas.<br/><br/>Someone was on the roof, firing the mini-gun.  Someone was in the catacombs, firing weapons.  Someone was in the helicopter.  Someone was in the funeral corridor.  Someone had gained access to the helicopter and had put her guards on the roof out of action.  Someone, at the same time, had gained access to the catacombs and was pressing into the Palace, attacking her guards.  Someone was attacking the Palace.  Someone was trying to kill her.<br/><br/>Someone had made a very bad decision.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>The dead guards littered the floor of the funeral corridor, save for the one stuffed up Mad's kilt, whose struggles began to cease immediately.  Among the bloody corpses, fine blades, armor, and assorted miscellaneous equipment lay entangled -- including simplistic metal rods, things barely 6 inches long with a single button near the base.  The rods hugs from the guards' waists on short lanyards.<br/><br/>Halvorson checked that they were all dead before walking forward to Mad.  "So you're the famous Mad Adam?" he asked.  "I'm Sergea-- er, Lieutenant Halvorson, from the Resistance.  I'm sure as hell glad to see you..." his eyes cast over Mad's ample gut, "...in all your glory."<br/><br/>O'Toole, who had been covering the way deeper in, flicked a hair over her shoulder and muttered, "Less time we spend here, L-T, the better..."<br/><br/>Halvorson glared at her, then turned to Mad.  "We got two fellas up on the roof, looking to extract you and take you into friendly territory. Since you're down here, though, you can help us out.  Could you take us to the cell Mark Karogen's being held in?"<br/><br/>Before Mad could reply, O'Toole's gun rang out.  "GUARDS!" she shouted.  Halvorson and the medic ducked for cover.<br/><br/>From where they stood, they could see around the bend of the funeral corridor, into the proper Palace itself.  The corridor opened into a wide funeral chapel, a couple dozen yards long and perhaps thirty feet wide, lined with pews.  Beyond the seats, three stout wooden doors opened into the central hallway of the Palace basement, separating the funeral chapel from the dungeons.  All three doors were open, and O'Toole was trying to pin the bunches of guards that were trying to get through the doors and into the chapel, where they could hide behind the pews and make their way forwards.<br/><br/>None of the guards were carrying firearms.  Not yet, anyway.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>The old man's breath rattled as more gunshots filtered into the cell he shared with Karogen.  "I'm still here, mac..." he rasped.  "You're not rid of me--" he coughed, "yet."  A series of coughs followed, then silence as the gunshots continued.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Lanner sprung backwards, his body torn asunder by the volley of lead Dreamer threw at him.  His gun fired as the muscles depressing the trigger clenched in a death spasm, and as he hurtled onto his back the stream of bullets raced up the opposite wall, drawing a dotted line until the gun fell from his limp hands.  Lanner's eyes twitched once, then he was no more.<br/><br/>It had all happened so quickly - Lanner and Dreamer fired, then Dreamer again as Kitten disarmed one guard and killed the one holding his gun with that blade.  Only two men remained: the disarmed man, and a final man wielding a blade.  The shock had been so powerful that total silence reigned in the room for a full three seconds.<br/><br/>The disarmed man raised his hands above his head, the universal gesture of submission.  The one with the blade hesitated only a moment, but he knew the odds were against him, and he dropped his blade, raising his hands also.  Neither of them spoke.<br/><br/>Maeve was lying still as a stone under the bodysuit, unable or unwilling to look at the results of the sudden burst of action.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Five needles were now embedded in Merelli's face, their locations emanating pain he'd never before experienced.  His constricted throat begged to release his scream, but the metal object keeping it compressed did not allow him that luxury.<br/><br/>"Our god will not lead us to our deaths this day," came a soft voice above his face.  Merelli could feel the breath of the creature wafting over him.  "With the sacrifice of our enemies' leader, I will bring us new strength!"<br/><br/>A new needle found a new nerve junction.  Merelli hoped his beloved Iln could repair such damage if he ever returned to her.<br/><br/><br/>The First Sergeant and Emiko emerged from the apartment building and into the street, and he gently led her across the park to the overstuffed dragoness.  Looking in awe at her massive stomach, he said, "This woman has lost her hand.  Can you heal her?"<br/><br/>Iln's side still bulged with the forms of Janus and Fenson.