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A head encased in a shining black helmet appeared over the railing. Light glinted off the barrel of a needle-gun.
Xris fired his lasgun, must have hit, for he heard a cry and a foul curse. The head disappeared.
Fishing out a pressure bandage, Xris ripped it open. He slid the bandage up Jamil's arm, positioned it over the worst of the wounds, hit the activator. The bandage inflated, applying the correct amount of pressure to stop the bleeding, formed a seal over the wound.
The helmeted head was back. Xris traded his lasgun for Jamil's beam rifle, fired it, then sent up another of his slow missiles.
"Catch that, you son of a bitch!" he shouted.
The knight didn't take Xris up on his offer, but the soldier did have guts enough to fire a round before seeking cover.
Another blast. Xris was on the move, his metal leg kicking aside fragments of concrete and railing. He reached the landing between the second and third floors, finally had a clear view of what he was up against. Black-suited bodies lay in front of the fire door.
Xris started up the stairs. Two more black-suited figures appeared. He had no more doubts. These were the knights, trained soldiers and assassins. And fanatics.
Xris hunkered down, fired, missed, fired again. The best thing he could do was keep moving, keep shooting. Smoke filled the stairwell. He would be a difficult target for the knights to see, while Xris's heat-seeking vision could pick them out perfectly
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