Tenpenny dealt with, Steve quickly searched the other sides of the balcony in case Mister Burke was hiding, but he was nowhere to be seen. Steven stormed back inside, making his way to the main corridor where he would use search the entire tower. As he approached the staircase, an angry voice shouted, "There he is!"
Steven leapt behind a pillar as gunfire erupted around him. Chaos reigned - powder blasted off the walls, the deafening noise of the shots drowned out any yells, smoke and dust clouded vision. The security team, who were huddled just in sight, fired wildly, with no idea where they were meant to be aiming.
"Shit," Steven muttered to himself as stray bullets whizzed past, fumbling for another plasma grenade.
Before he could activate one, one of the guards managed to fling a concussion grenade his way. If it had been any further from Steven, he might have been annihilated, or at least badly burned, by the explosive concoction. The grenade, however, landed close enough for him to quickly chuck it back towards his assailants. It blasted out a large chunk of wall directly beside the staircase, adding to the anarchy.
Steven spent at least a minute huddled against the cold, cream pillar as the security officers expended their magazines on the pointless assault. Finally, they stopped firing.
"Is he… dead?" one of them asked, creeping forward.
"He'd fuckin'… better beee," slurred another, obviously drunk.
The first merc moved away from the staircase, coming out from the cover to check behind Steven's pillar. The others cautiously followed him, alert for any signs of Steve's survival. The lead guard moved slowly around, finger quivering on the trigger. Suddenly, a loud shotgun blast rang out and the merc's head popped like a melon, showering the already-dirty floor with chunks of bone and brain.
Steven sprang away from the other side of the pillar and took out another one with a flash of buckshot to the chest. The mercenaries, several intoxicated, spun to where he'd just been, but he was fast. Ducking and diving forward, he blew apart the leg of a third, before rolling behind another column.
Immediately switching back to the Xuanlong, Steven let loose a concentrated volley at the remaining few. By the time everyone was dead, the floor was completely soaked in blood, and it was starting to leak down the stairs.
"Burke!" he howled, sprinting down the steps three at a time. Leaning over the railing, he caught a glimpse of the suited man dashing to the lobby, fleeing for his life. As usual, Burke was wearing a grubby white pinstriped shirt and pants with a tie, something that might have been fashionable before the war. His hat flew off his head as he bolted away. Redoubling his efforts, Steven catapulted himself down as fast as he could, stumbling several times. He didn't care. He had to exact sweet vengeance on the backstabbing prick.
Maine finally caught up with him six flights of stairs below. As Mister Burke tried to round a corner, Steven gripped the back of his neck and smashed his face hard into the metal railing. Burke's nose made a satisfying crunch. Hot, warm liquid began to fill his mouth, making it harder to speak.
"I'b nod goig ta try ta bake you spare by life," gasped Burke through a mouthful of blood. "I know you hade me."
"You got that fucking right," roared Steven, flying into a rage. He absolutely ripped into his mortal enemy. All his pent-up fury, anger, insecurities, fear, he took it all out on the smartly-dressed individual before him. He lashed out with everything he had. Fist after fist pounded into him, occasionally interspersed with a kick or two. Burke was dead long before Steven was finished with him and decided to discharge a round of buckshot into his head.