((OOC:  RL<img alt=":gulp:" src="./images/smilies/munch.gif" title="Eat!"/>ed me this week.  I'm so sorry, everyone.  If it's not one thing, it's another.  I'm really really sorry.  Life handed me a huge bushel of lemons.  And the lemonade I made from them is a little watery and tart.  Happy Voarniversary, though!  Expect a blog post from me soon.))<br/><br/>When Heretic mentioned taking a rest, Janus immediately felt the hours and hours of adrenaline rush crash down upon him, becoming an intense fatigue.  He nodded.  "Actually, that's not too bad an idea..."<br/><br/>Fenson nodded in agreement, but cast a wary eye over Heretic's shoulder at Iln.  "I don't think we're out of the woods just yet, though..." he remarked.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Merelli's throat was freed from the grip of the device that had silenced him, and he wheezed out an agonized cry.  "Get these needles out of me!!" he shouted, his voice hoarse and dry.  "Bring me to my Iln!"<br/><br/>The Resistance men were afraid to comply, but they knew they could not move their colonel without dislodging some of the thin spikes that pierced him.  They quickly set to work, each removal resulting in a low moan from Merelli's lips.<br/><br/>Raice and Jenten were seemingly swept aside and forgotten in the rush to get the colonel out the door and to safety.  But it wouldn't take long for them to notice, discarded by the wall, the tattered remains of a cultist's clothes.  The pockets were bulging with something, but neither could see what.<br/><br/>As Merelli was hoisted up onto the shoulders of three men, they carefully stepped around the body of First Sergeant Millhouse, which still lay in the doorway.  In a few minutes, Merelli would be back beside his beloved Iln.  But he was already bleeding from many holes in his flesh.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>The minigun Arget was looking for was still in its place aboard the charred helicopter, but the ammo had been removed to keep it from going off as the fire had spread.  To his dismay, his revolver hurtled through the space where the guard's head had been an instant before and sailed over the side of the roof, down to the pavement ten stories below.<br/><br/>But the glider was still there, well enough away from the flames to be unscathed, and apparently ignored by the guards.  The noonday sun shone off Lake Kassemar, making the buildings across the water glitter with scattered light.  The way across was clear.<br/><br/>Mag was there, facing Chiro down.  The dragon-morph was between hir and Arget.  There was little time.<br/><br/>Chiro could smell Mag's anger among the mixed blood of the assassinated guards on the rooftop.  Arget could make it away and to safety.  He could follow... but there was a thirty-foot cyborg naga to contend with.  He had lost once already as well.  The problem was in trying to follow Arget.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>A loud clatter from up the elevator shaft told Vultana that the car had seized in transit, halted by its gravity-powered brakes.  Muffled shouts of frustration followed, but the soldiers were already starting industriously work their way out of the car.  They were prying the roof panels open and would be ready to slide the door open on the floor above the car in minutes.<br/><br/>Even so, there was still the other elevator, which continued to rise up.  The moment the soldiers from one car radioed to the other, however, it stopped and belched its passengers out onto the nearest floor.  They quickly split up, making their way to each staircase and beginning the climb up the remaining floors.  It was only a matter of minutes.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>The glowing spider jerked back as Feign's round scored into its skull, shattering the tough shell.  Its limbs jerked and quivered momentarily, then its body slumped to the ground and lay still.<br/><br/>Halvorson rubbed his arm where he'd felt the bullet sail past and looked at Feign.  "Son of a bitch..." he murmured.  Then he saw the open grate.  "All right.  Down, everyone!"  He saw Karogen already trying to make it through and walked over, taking the old man from the young one.  "It's easier without your arms full," he muttered.<br/><br/>He waited for everyone else to get through besides him, Baz, and Mad.  Then he lowered the old man and O'Toole down through the grate.  Finally, he made Baz and Mad Adam precede him back into the sewers before he lowered himself through and clanged the grate shut above them all.<br/><br/>"Mother.  Fuck."  He swore quietly.  "Let's move."  He hoisted O'Toole onto his shoulder and started moving, not looking or speaking to anyone.  The dark, dank closeness of the Palace sewers was like the comforting hug of a friend after the hell of the Palace itself.  Halvorson didn't even blink as a web caught on his face, the startled owner of which scuttled away down his back and onto the floor.  In a few moments, they would be at the opening onto the Lake.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Between the station wagon and the open road was a small, makeshift blockade made of furniture, blankets, pieces of metal... a hastily drawn blockage across the road, obviously thrown up during the initial fighting.  Kitten and Dreamer could both see several dead furs, many of them policemen but a few in civilian clothes, draped over or splayed behind the blockade on their side.  A large truck, half-laden with hay, had plowed through the blockade and lodged in a house on the left.  The wagon could make it through, but there were a few living men here... helping themselves to the feast of dead furs.  As they drew close, one man had just finished gulping down a furry hand, his stomach grossly distended as he clutched a syringe in one hand.  There were maybe four men here, all of them in some stage of advanced gluttony, eyeing the approaching wagon.