It was hard to say how long the shootout lasted. Even witnessing the act, the mind's set of defenses against traumatic actions levied themselves, and the brain began repressing. Only select details passed through the psychic wall, searing into the witnesses like a red-hot brand. Their ears rang, deafened after the second or third shot. There were so many. Their faces were filled with anguish, silently screaming for help that would never come. Even those who didn't resist, those who surrendered, were caught in the crossfire. The only survivors were the imps that had scurried into the trucks.

"Hey! HEY!" The spymaster screamed out. One soldier responded, flicking their head up as they stood above an imp riddled with puncture wounds, leaking juices onto the icy road. Seviathan walked up to them, slapping the gun down to the floor. "Do you know how much fuckin'…" He snarled, looking to the entire group of twenty. "…paperwork I'll need to fill out for this!?" He spat the word out as if it were a profanity. A few seconds pass. "Well, at least search their wallets!"

A few 'yessirs' ring out, some nervous, some quite a duration after the others. They began pilfering the bodies, seeking out serfdom cards, seeing which imp belongs to whom. Angel and Charlie simply stared. Watched them loot, watched them drag the bodies into the semis one by one, streaking the ground below with fresh red. Charlie's reaction… was to close the door.

Moxxie and Millie, meanwhile, had been secreted away into one of the hotel rooms. The living quarters were nothing to write home about; the wallpaper was coming off, revealing the drywall behind. An incandescent light, without any fixtures, dangled from the ceiling, just barely bathing the room with a warm glow. There was a vanity with a mirror on top. The vanity was rotting and the mirror was smashed. Outside of the window were the pop of gunshots.

Millie had sat down on the bed. The mattress, if it could even be called that, felt like thumbtacks encased in fabric. The sheets had been eaten through by moths and provided practically no protection. She leaned forward pensively, the only comfortable position on the cot. "…what are we doin', hun?"

Moxxie paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. He attempted to look into the mirror. All he could see is a dusty reflection in one of the still-attached shards. "…look. We're closer than we've been. We just have to get into the Goetia district…" His eyes darted across the room for a second as he heard another gunshot. "…and stop Striker in his tracks."

Millie firmly planted her head in her hands. "Ye, Moxx, but… wha' if we got tha wrong idea? What if we're jus'… chasin' ghosts?" She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Do we jus' go home or wha'?"

"…Millie…" The thought had crossed his mind, but those aforementioned mechanisms for avoiding hurt drove those concerns out of his mind. He had to confront them now, though; someone else was acknowledging them. "We… we have to try. For Loona." The weapons expert looked down at the stained ground. "If we let this… this… cowpoke go, hun… how many other Loonas are there going to be? We can stop this. Stop it when nobody else could."

"…can we?" One small comment. That's all Millie could spit out before the door flew open.

The spider darted in and closed it just as quickly. "Right, aight, aight, sorry 'bout that. Those fuckin' fascists- look, ya need to get outta here." He ran to the window, opening it up. "They're shootin' imps out on the motherfuckin' street."

The couple's blood ran cold. More gunshots. It wasn't over. Commotion followed, clearly echoing through the concrete jungle, voices of all genders and ages. Then came the shouting, the wailing.

Angel winced. Despite having personally witnessed this, the sound had been muddied from the tinnitus. Now, he could hear every detail. His voice cracked when he opened his mouth. "Ya- ya kno' how to get to Alastor's place from here?"

Alastor. The Radio Demon. Somehow, the sinner was recommending him over staying at the hotel. Moxxie nervously responded. "No- why him?"

Angel Dust shakily exhaled, leaning out the window and pointing a landmark out. "Ya see that tower over there, wit' the blinkin' lights? That's where he is. Jus' follow the road straight an' don't even think a' lookin' at them green fucks." He looked over his shoulder. "Look, ya gotta go now. Charlie's holdin' 'em off, but-"

"…one!"

The spymaster oversaw his Frumentarii division, a couple of soldiers slamming the battering ram into the front door. The lock snapped off and the door swung open. Charlie was forced to the ground, her attempt at preventing entry a failure. The group of legionaries swarmed in, rifles at the ready.

The Morningstar clamoured back to her feet, horror apparent in her face. "…why!? I told you that we don't have any imps in here!"

Seviathan skeptically glanced from side to side. "…I'm sorry, I don't believe that. That spider told us you were prejudiced against imps and-" He stepped forward and pinched Charlie's cheek. "From what I know about you, Charlotte, there is no basis for that. So-" His fingerless gloves come off the heir's face. "I'm doing a full search of your property, under the orders of the Emperor, to ensure that all the imps possibly exposed are accounted for. You know. To ensure the continuation of their species and all-"

Charlie glowered, gritting her teeth. "You just shot a bunch of them out on the street, and now you're saying you're saving them!?"

The spymaster's eyebrow twitched, and his lips pursed. There was a considerable pause. "If this really is a novel disease from the living world, this has the potential to kill millions. We cannot turn a blind eye. Even if they resist." A look over his shoulder. "…I didn't want them to die. I was hoping they'd be more cooperative."

"But they're dead, Sev. And all you could…" The heiress began tearing up. "The paperwork… they're nothing to you but paperwork!"

Seviathan scoffed. "And this is the whole issue. You simply cannot see the bigger picture. If those people were infected and we… what, left them alone? Then they'd spread their contagion across Hell. A contagion, I might add, that nobody has immunity to. If we have to kill to stop that, well, that's an unfortunate reality. But it is the reality."

While this conversation was going on, the rooms in the hotel were being busted down. Door after door, room after room, soldiers hunting for imps.

Loud hits, followed by cracking. Over and over. Eventually, the door broke open.

Angel Dust rose his hands in surrender, sat down on a rickety bench. "Ey, what tha fuck!?" On the vanity was a small mirror, several lines of a white powder streaking its surface. The credit card that had separated those lines lay next to the display, and snow covered the addict's nose.

The legionaries, without so much as a word, barged into the room. They began turning the place over for hiding spots. They looked under the bed, at the back of the dresser. The spider, in return, took a rolled-up dollar bill into his hand and roughly snorted a line.

One of the legionaries inspected the open window. There was no bug screen. He looked out. A two-story fall. Aside from a few sinners walking down the street, there was nothing. And just as quickly as they had made entry, the Frumentarii left without a word, marching out into the hallway to disturb the rest of the occupants.

Angel exhaled. They were gone. He sunk down. The spider was completely drained. Then, like a dam breaking, tears flowed down his cheeks and his breathing grew erratic, hitching and stifled by the unconscious bursts of intense despair. His body shook as he sobbed, throwing his head back, clenching his teeth together and hissing out air.

In the chaos, many had lost their lives. The addict could at least say he had saved two of them.