Did a number on you. Shot up. The big headed man said. He reached down and grabbed max, who had curled into a fetal position. He flipped max onto his back, grabbed max's wrists, and held them to the ground. Max opened his eyes and saw what was over him. He struggled. But from the first second it was clear his strength was no match. Billy roared like a demon. The chair squeaked against the wood floor the big man raised his big head, leaning back until his neck muscles popped out like flesh covered cables. Robin leaned forward to push off the couch and stop the man, but the black haired woman snap kicked. The boots smashed into Robin's mouth, driving her back into the couch again. The world wavered. Robin's body felt numb and unresponsive, but she could still see. The man slammed his big head forward in a lethal blur. Max's face vanished in a crunching splash of red and gray. Like some one had hit a watermelon with a bowling ball. Robin knew she was screaming. But she wasn't controlling it, it was someone else. Someone still there, because she wasn't really there. Couldn't be there. Couldn't have just seen max die like that. A final screech of wood accompanied by the sound of a chair hitting the floor. Billy, the pit bull lunged, locked his massive jaws on the back of big head's neck. The man let out a scream that sounded like it belonged to a little girl. He fell face down in the gore of max's blood and brains. Flailing at the back of his head and neck. John Smith was as afraid as he'd ever been. He thought he might puke at any moment. He had to force himself to watch the road ahead, and not look up at the windows of the passing buildings. There are no snappers up there. There are no snipers. And even if there were, he had to go anyway. The text message had seemed to that Brian clouser. Marie's children have poops. Get to Robbins now. John saw Robbins place coming up on the right. He pulled in the clutch and squeezed the break as he downshifted. A flare of headlights suddenly blinded him as a car cut over from the left lane, tires screeching. John angled his Harley up onto the sidewalk, barely avoiding the collision. He righted the bike, hopped off, and dropped the kickstand in one smooth motion. He ripped off his helmet and drew his 6 hour. The car was a black station wagon, the rear passenger door opened. A man lurched out, clearly hampered by pain, were high in closer looked like a completely different person. It wasn't just because of the black peacoat and the skull cap. A makeshift rifle strapped sling held his left arm against his body. A line of metal Staples covered a ragged wound from his left upper lip down to the base of his jaw. He held a flat black side arm in his right hand. His green eyes burned with a focused rage that promised very bad things to anyone who got in his way. A high pitched scream came from Robin's building Bryan ran to the apartment building's front door, a classic San Francisco style door of glass and wood, fronted with a black wrought iron grate.