<strong>Havel</strong><br/><br/>As soon as the white light hits his brain, Havel drops to one knee, throwing up an arm to shield his face. Squinting and blinking, he tries to clear his eyes, but it's no good. Can't see shit, can't shoot, all he can do is stay down and hope neither Morgan nor Yankee shoots him in the back. That gives him plenty of time to think over what's happened while he waits for his eyes to clear. Clearly, that little burnt-up bastard had used some kind of weirdness on him, blinding him. Had to be Morgan shooting, she was the one with the machine-gun. Cold sweat breaks out all over Havel as he starts to wonder whether or not his vision will ever come back, if he'll ever see again. What if the rest of his life is just one big white light?<br/><br/>That thought scares him, just for a second, and then the white light turns a dark, furious red. No motherfucker is going to take his eyes and live to tell about it over a chiller. Bringing his shotgun up to his shoulder, hammers ready to fall, Havel points it at where he last saw the Priest and squeezes both triggers. Deafness joins blindness as the two barrels spit fire and death in a huge thunderclap of sound, followed by a ringing in his ears. No way of knowing what, if anything, he might have hit, and no time to worry about it. Dropping the smoke-pole, Havel draws the heavy-bladed machete from its sheath on his belt, rising up just slightly into a fighting crouch. Anyone touches him, they're gonna lose their limbs and life. Until then, all he can do is wait, and hope that he starts seeing again.