Lev retrained his gun on the possible assailant. With his free hand he pushed the girl closer towards the building, forcing the mystery person to expose himself even further if he was looking for her.

"You have business? Not tell me you are looking for employ. We fight already, over job."

Lev gave a disconcerting look towards the man's handgun, writing off the dagger he held for the possible ranged threat. The situation was quickly getting awkward, and having competition was doing nothing for Lev's hunger. Especially if this prospect was a more agile gun for hire.

"You put gun away. No need unless you use it now. That not your intention, I think. We have need of cool off, yes?"

Shealtiel checks his MID once more while he walks, only to discover that the powerful signature is not only nearby, but has been joined by second, though the first dwarfs it. Only a few streets away, he quickens his pace, subconsciously letting a trickle of Sheol's power seep into his muscles and lungs, so that he will not get winded from the exertion.

Rounding a corner he comes to the end of an alley where three people are gathered -- no, make that four; the blind man from earlier is on one of the rooftops -- in what looks to be something of a standoff. Drawing himself up, approaches from behind the woman in the crimson cloak.

As she jerks her head around to see who else has disturbed their meeting, he raises his walking-stick, pointing to her.

"You... you are from Babylon." He feels her psychosis thunder into his mind, but it is a trivial thing to fill it with enough memories of horror to drown out his own paltry personal narrative.

"Oh, do not look at me like that, like I've somehow bested you. It doesn't take psychosis to notice the Whore's mark on you."

Lowering the walking stick, with a shrug he reaches under his left sleeve and casually presses the button on his MID to create a field of psychic static -- though with this one, she'll likely be able to overcome its effects, at least to a degree.

Stepping forward again, he says "Now, then. All of you, lower your weapons. As pathetic as they appear to be, the police forces of this city could still deal with the likes of you. And, you!" he called up to the blind man "come down from there!"

He leans against one of the buildings, never taking his eyes from the woman. "Now, then, my dear, shall we talk about the man you killed this morning?"

"From Babylon? A whore? Then I have just found my target!" Dante growled. Kicking off the roof, the bounty hunter flipped out the blade of his knife and made straight for the strong aura.

"Well it's true that I did want to stay here a while," thought Michael at the man's thought. The psychic static from the old man's device was messing with his psychic block that shielded his mind. "I won't be able to impose it on specific people, but I can still shield my own mind." Michael lowered the gun from the rooftop and brought it to his side as with his shield, but he didn't turn either off. "This man's dangerous," he thought. "And what about what he said about the girl. 'From Babylon' he said. Does that mean that she's working for Jez'ebel? Or does that mean..." His thoughts wandered off in a couple of directions as the men (and woman) in front of him continued until he saw the blind man jump down aiming straight for his employer. With a split second to act, he rammed the falling assailant with his shield, crashing both him and the blind man into a pile of potato sacks on the side of the ally.

Dante was caught unawares. Too focused on his goal, he'd failed to take into account the others.

Recovering his senses slightly, he kicked the man away from him and opened fire on the girl.

"Nyet!"

Lev threw his weight against the girl, Knocking her back towards the street as he took two shots directly to his front. In the heat of the moment his free hand found the hammer of his revolver, fanning it as shot after shot rang out. He stumbled back the way he had pushed the girl, sinking both in to the angry swarm of people that pressed in all directions after gunfire had been heard. He ducked low as he pushed her along, free hand pressing against one of his wounds. He needed something to divert their assailants.

With two more shots, Lev fired his pistol into the crowd towards the alley, sending a swarm of fleeing people towards it. In such chaos, there would be no way for them to follow in the streets.

Dante spat on the ground. In his mind's eye, he saw coins bouncing out of his reach, followed by a turkey dinner, a sandwich, a room at an inn...

"Hey, come on, I gotta eat, you know!" Dante yelled after what seemed to be a man helping his target. As if on cue, his stomach growled. No time to find my pills now... He had only taken a single step to give chase when the alley was flooded by townspeople.

Shit...I'm sure I look like murderer now... thought Dante to himself, not quite willing to stow his weapons. Two auras, one much stronger than the other, were still nearby.

Climbing a few windowsills and loose bricks, Dante made his way back onto the rooftops to better track what seemed like a powerful psychic.

A stray bullet hit Shealtiel in the chest, but his Interdiction Badge caught it, absorbing the impact. Nonetheless, he deemed it prudent to flatted himself against the wall and get down. Granted, he could probably deal with all of them except the psychic if need be, but the cost to his health would be appalling, and he didn't want these people dead.

After the woman and her apparently newly-hired bodyguard escaped from the alley, Shealtiel hurried over to where the other man had crashed, noting that the blind man was escaping the alley. Extending his hand to him, he asked, "Are you injured?"

Jeanne noted that Feenai sat them far from the door, as if a protection measure, but didn't complain. She would have done the same thing, especially due to the large number of people in the building.

"Right now, for a decent meal," she stated. "I have been traveling for a while and needed to relax." There was a menu on the wall next to their table and she studied it before looking around for a waitress. She found one soon and waved her over. "Beef stew, please," Jeanne told her before glancing at Feenai, assuming that she, too, would like to order something.

From outside came the sounds of gunshots and yelling. Automatically Jeanne's hand went for her knife, but once she realized that she was in no immediate danger, she pulled back. "I assume that fights are common in this city." Still, she was on edge.

Everything moved so fast. He didn't even have time to point his weapon at the man he just tackled when a foot slammed to the side of his head. Although disoriented, he could see his former employer being stolen away by the gun-handed man. "That jerk off," he thought as he tried to get a hold of his surroundings. A hand extended towards him as well as a voice from the man whom he saw as dangerous...but it was a gesture of kindness, or so he thought, so he took hold of the hand as he tried to recompose himself.
"I...I'm fine; just a little disoriented," Michael said to the older man. People were starting to flood in, and the crowd wasn't necessarily comforting to Michael due to the gun shots. Getting to his feet, he beckoned the man towards the street, hoping to walk with him into the tavern he was in before.
"We should get to somewhere more suitable before getting to anymore conversation. My name is Michael."

Shealtiel follows along with Micahel, relieved that he won't have to expend any energy healing him. He isn't getting any younger, and he feels the toll of his magicks a lot more now, than he used to.

Glancing at his MID, he is alarmed to see that the woman's presence is right ahead in the tavern. Before he can say anything to Michael, though, they're already inside.

A strong dark purple aura and a strong bright red one...These should be the ones he'd met earlier. Grabbing the edge of one tile and swinging onto yet another roof, Dante ran, wolf-like, towards his target. The people around her, at least the one with the purple glow, were strong, but all he needed was a single well-placed bullet, else a quick slash to an artery...Preoccupied, he nearly missed the edge of the tavern roof, catching his foot on a flagpole just in time.

Pushing himself onto the slanted surface, Dante took several deep breaths; the adrenaline rush was taking its toll. He managed to retrieve a single succor capsule, swallowed, and sat back, trying to figure out the proceedings in the tavern based on aura movement alone.

After half a minute, he decided it was relatively safe, felt around in his pouch for a cigarette, and lit it.

Leading the old man inside, Michael bumped into the one person he was hoping to find...later....His rival, the stake-handed gun man, was bleeding heavily on the table as he was receiving medical assistance, but that didn't matter as much as the inevitable situation that was about to occur unless he did something. Michael went to the red hooded girl and spoke softly enough as to not create more chaos where it is not needed.
"A lot of good men will die if something breaks out now. Head to the back. We need to talk."
Michael activated his psychic block and extended as far as he could in the bounds of the tavern, with the exception of the healer and the patient he was treating.

Shealtiel follows a few steps behind Michael, trying to get a sense of their surroundings -- both what is going on inside the tavern, and any further disturbances that might come from outside. After all, the blind man doesn't seem like the sort who'd be willing to talk things out. Shealtiel is hoping for more success with the others, especially considering that one is wounded.

As Michael whispers to the psychic woman, Shealtiel adds, "Do as he says," gesturing with his cane.

Feenai was just about ready to order when the woman in the red cloak thrust a bleeding man practically onto Jeanne's lap. She hadn't even finished processing that when more people came into the tavern, a very old looking man and a a grey haired man that didn't look nearly as old as his hair suggested. She felt some severe pressure on her mental shields, despite her practice. At least two of the newcomers were psychics, but she couldn't tell more than that without dropping her own shields and she didn't dare do that with all the commotion. Already the pain from the bleeding man was leaking into her mind, and it felt far more horrible than it looked.

Putting as much as she could into keeping the shields up, Feenai stood and moved over to Jeanne. "John, just tell me what you need and I'll get it for you."

Looking on, Shealtiel notes to the young woman, "your friend is a theurge. Assuming she can get the bullets out without damaging him further, she should be able to close his wounds." He doesn't feel the need to add that he could do so himself, as it would require him taking a great deal of the man's suffering into himself.

Jeanne was surprised; she hadn't expected to have a bleeding man sprung on her. She was thankful that he seemed to be breathing well, though, and opened his jacket to reveal two entry wounds. The poor waitress was even more upset, and as Lev was put on the table, she ran off. Not being a psychic, she didn't notice the block, but a quick check on her visor told her that not only was the newcomer a powerful one, so were several others who entered a minute later.

She didn't need to be offered money to heal the man. Thankfully, her reserves of theurgical energy had not been used in some time, so she had no need of creating more on the fly. Closing her eyes and placing her palms over the twin entry wounds, she concentrated and Lev's pain dulled. The wounds began to glow a pale yellow, and she could see the location of one bullet and the exit wound of the other. The bullet was deep, though; its removal would be more damaging than letting it be. After all, her patient had a stake nailed to his right hand, so it wasn't as if he were a picture of health to begin with.

Thankfully, none of the vital organs were pierced, although there seemed to be significant internal bleeding. She pushed energy into his body and closed the heaviest-bleeding veins and arteries.

Jeanne glanced back as the old man, who must have arrived when she was concentrating. She was slightly disturbed by the fact that her skills were so easily discovered. It wasn't by accident that the young woman had come to her instead of a hospital.

"Thank you, Feenai. Just something to clean the blood off of his front," she said, trying to make it not sound like an order. Then, taking a look at the people around her - they seemed to be embroiled in their own conflict - she returned to Lev.

Exhaling smoke, Dante noticed a weaker aura travel farther into the tavern with the purple and red ones. Closer to the door, there seemed to be a small transfer of energy between two others and what seemed like the man with a stake through his hand.

He stood and took a few steps across the roof, sitting back down directly overhead of the red psychic.

Shealtiel is about to respond to the woman's belligerent remarks, but he stops as he notices her, Michael, and the other young lady suddenly wince. The three psychics in the room. That can mean only one thing: a reciprocity generator active nearby.

Damn it, they're here already, he fumes inwardly, and even as he does so, blinding light fills the tavern as Saint Acacias steps in, revealing himself in all his theuric splendor.

In a powerful, harmonious voice, he Commands them all to "Stand down." Shealtiel buckles beneath the magickal compulsion, but manages to withstand it for the moment, though he can feel his bones straining with the effort. His breath begins to wheeze from him.

Behind Acacias, a number of armored soldiers file into the tavern, bearing heavy assault rifles, all pointed at the group in the back corner. Others usher the civilians who haven't fled out of the tavern.

The sudden pain seared Feenai, granting her a pain she had never felt before. A.. reciproty generator? At least the pain was only momentary, and was fading quickly. She almost didn't notice when the Saint came in and issued his Command, as she was rushing to get a wet towel for Jeanne. Returning to Jeanne, she handed her the towel, and finally looked up at the commotion. Panic started to fill her, she had never before seen a soldier before, let alone so many heavily armed ones.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the panic down as best she could. She carefully addressed the soldiers, "Please.. if only for a moment. Please let my friend at least stabilize this man before he dies..."

Gratefully, Jeanne took the towel from Fee and held it to the wounded man's chest. It grew red quickly and she moved to a cleaner part of the white cloth. Too weak to move him over properly, she decided to deal with the bloodstain on the back of his jacket later. But before she could heal him more, the psychics around her winced and a very powerful theurgist entered the room. The light he brought with him was blinding, and she quickly slipped down her tinted goggles.

His Command had little effect on her, in part because she was not being threatening, but she relaxed the pressure on Lev's wound. Though she knew that it should be continued, Jeanne knew that she couldn't fight the Saint without being hurt herself. Then came Feenai's request, and it seemed the Saint allowed the action, so she continued.

The rest of her work was simple, and she dived in headfirst, trying to get it done quickly. Her hands glowed yellow as she used most of her reserves of theurgic energy to knit blood vessels, muscle and flesh together as fast as possible. Finally, she made sure to kill any bacteria and reduce surface scarring. When Jeanne lifted her head, she was very tired, but Lev was healed.

"Oh, that isn't obvious to you?" Shealtiel gasps, barely able to muster the breath to speak. "Maybe... maybe you aren't... as smart as I thought."

And with that, he promptly collapses on the floor, unconscious.

"Saint Acacias. I was hoping to meet you at some point, though I never expected it to be like this," Michael said, immediately dropping his Psychic Block. He didn't want to get hurt anymore than he had to and even if his mind was vulnerable, he knew, without thinking, that his mind now had a price to read.
"So, then. How is this going to play out. You have little to no information of what has happened and know only of the people currently here, and even then, you probably only know of our powers. I will not resist, if you give the chance to explain what happened here." By this time all of his weapons were deactivated and either holstered or put away. Looking to the old man on the floor, he realized that he resisted the saint with a passion. He made a note to make great effort to defend this man as he raised his hands.

A blinding Aura seared Dante's mind, making him wince. How did I not notice this before...?! Scanning around, he noticed that the entire tavern was surrounded. It hadn't occurred to him that the city police would be this strong. Suddenly he realized that the auras he had been tracking before had become dimmer. Spidery strands of energy were crisscrossed between them and the newcomer's.

My chance! But it looks like I'll have to take out these guards first...

His foot found loose tiles. He stomped a few times, and, leaping up, managed to gain just enough potential to send him crashing through the ceiling. With his knife unsheathed, he had almost sunk it into the Saint's skull when a score of bullets hit him on the fortunately sturdy armor, careening him into the man who had attacked him earlier.

Lev's vision swam as he opened his eyes. The last few minutes had been nothing but pain and confusion. He had felt forces working on his body, pain wracking him and making him nearly delirious while he was not in his proper state of mind. Shapes seemed to drift in front of him hazily as a sudden commotion fell through the ceiling. Instinctively he raised his arm, shakily trying to find a target. Going with the unfiltered reflexes of his mind, he flipped the hammer down to fire his single shotgun shell, and pulled the trigger in to the crowd of chaos.

In Jeanne's opinion, everyone should just surrender. Then again, she had had no part in the violence, Lev had just been thrust upon her by the psychic woman. So when Dante tried to kill the Saint, she wasn't very happy - such a move was, in her opinion, quite foolish. And then when Lev's shot miraculously hit, she was simultaneously disgusted by the massive injury it caused and upset, because it could only get worse from then on.

The soldiers approaching them made Jeanne very nervous; if she were wounded now, it would be hard to heal herself, and she had no interest in being in pain. After all, whatever had happened outside hadn't involved her at all. To show her compliance, she put her hands in the air, Lev's blood still in their creases.

Turning her head, she saw a bowl of steaming beef stew alone on the counter. The waitress must have left it there before being ushered out. Slowly, she edged towards it.

Realizing that he is lying prostrate on the floor, Shealtiel crawls to his knees and nearly exclaims "What in God's name is going on here" before catching himself.

Stumbling to his feet, he slides back against the rear wall and glances over to Michael. "Any brilliant ideas, Artificer?"

"Well then...the saint said to 'bring them down',"Michael giggled to himself, raising his shield up and activating it. He retreated towards the stairs after grabbing the Old Man and walked through the guards in the back. With the shield absorbing the impact of their truncheons, they easily fell over, and were crushed by the power of the shield, creating a hole in the stairs between the Michael and the rest of the chaos. Moving into an empty room towards the back, he rested the man on the bed, and braced himself for the oncoming storm.
"Sorry, old man, but I'm not going to resist the orders of the saint just yet. Not while they can keep me unharmed," Michael grinned with glee as he's never had this much fun since playing an unconventional form of Risk with some colleges from back in the days of Babylon.

Putting a hand to his mouth, Dante held on to his smoke as he clambered to his feet and gave the first guard a hefty kick to the head, then spun around and snubbed out the cigarette on another's forehead.

"Fer heaven's sake, stop pissing me off," he muttered, "I've business with the girl only!"

What exactly were they carrying? Not the guns, obviously, or shots would have been heard already; whatever they were, Dante assumed they were close-ranged. All the better for me, he thought, eviscerating the slightly-burnt guard with his knife.

Lev took the moment of confusion to fall off the table. Near him he found one of the assault rifles that had been tossed down. Knowing what one of those could do in a crowded room, he pulled the trigger and held it. Lead sprayed thickly in to the crowd, his aim nearly jeopardizing the person he was trying to save. As he fired he scooted across the floor, grabbing more weaponry as he gunned down soldiers at point-blank range. He gasped, hard. Even Lev knew that his act had just damned him. Perhaps he had taken this job just a bit too seriously. Unfortunately for him, he was already committed.