"Take the fire escape down." He orders them all in a low voice as the soldiers crawl up into the vent and pass by him.  "Cover your tracks with cocktails - this place is going up soon.  Throw 'em at the inside base of each window at the fire escape on each level to deter furs coming out at you.  Keep going.  Guys, with any luck, Sarge will be along with a ride out... but don't hold your breath.  Keep an eye out, move, move, move..."<br/><br/>Bane calms himself as they move down the vents, and gives them a few moments to get to the roof after passing him.  His breath grows shallow as the barricades rattle violently.  The door splits.  Furniture is slowly parted.  He grabs one of the bottles, on fire, and hurls it across the room.<br/><br/>*CRASH!*  Shrieks emit from the other side of the door, and through a large split, feral eyes glare furiously.  He picks up the second bottle, and takes a deep breath... at that instant, a metal spearhead pokes through the crack, and as he hurls the bottle, the harpoon whizzes straight into it - spattering flaming grain alcohol everywhere, including at the combatants on the other side.  And it's no surprise that fur ignites much easier than skin.<br/><br/>The metal tip drives itself straight through the vent wall not far from Bane, and he scrambles back down the shaft, up and out, to meet with the rest of them.  On the roof, they should have had enough time to put together some more flambe mix for their fur friends...   Bane takes his metal pipe, leans over the fire escape, and smashes in the window below with the very end of it for a clear shot with their white-lightning bombs... should they need them.<br/><br/>Keeping an eye out, he gives them roughly five minutes, give or take before the building really goes up - enough time to evacuate whether on foot or by truck with the escape nearby.  He wonders to himself if it would be justified to toss a few molotovs in front of the doors on the street below to keep the furs inside from getting out to come after them - his hands were shaking.  (I'm not... I'm not a murderer...) He thinks.