FREDERICK HOWARD JUPITER, IN THE CAFE<br/><br/>Jupiter shoved the peashooter he'd picked up in his belt and brandished his sledgehammer as the dogs and shots flooded in, security officers went down and two of the snarling beasts set upon Herb. An officer standing not three feet away from him had just taken a bullet to the head, and Fred didn't want to be next.  At least Norbert the Mr. Handy was heroically returning fire, quite literally, and shouting electronic defiance. Keeping his head down, Jupiter sneaked along behind the cover of cafeteria furniture, swinging his hammer around him to keep the dogs at distance, and rifled through the dead officer's kit for something, anything more powerful than the pop-gun he'd found.<br/><br/>Still crouching, Fred hurled another firebomb over the barricade at the horde of men and dogs trying to rush in through the doorway and the chaos and quickly changed his position as he heard the crash of glass.<br/><br/><strong>"HERB! FALL BACK!"</strong>, he shouted at his friend as he rushed towards the stairs to the second level. He thought he could see Sam Clarke running in front of him, but the thick smoke made it hard to see. At least it made them harder to hit. Not far behind him, he could hear the whirr of Norbert's circular saw slicing into someone. If he could hole up somewhere on the second floor with a few others, his hammer, and his petrol bombs, he could crush the bastards' skulls into hamburger meat as they tried to squash through a narrow opening, their numbers rendered almost useless.<br/>