06-04-2014, 09:41 PM
Jensen's decision not to touch Hood was probably a wise one. He had little interest in the strange helmet-wearing man, but that lack of interest didn't afford him much protection should he cross any boundaries. He paused long enough to collect one of the AK103s from a dead slaver; a spare throw-away weapon was always handy.
Hood stopped at the top step, and glanced at Jensen with a frown. For a moment, it may have seemed as if he were pondering further violence aimed at Jensen, but then there was the smell of smoke. The sound of a fire roaring from below. A moment later, smoke began to billow up the stair case from the first floor.
"You know, for a Texan, you sure as fuck don't seem to like direct problem resolutions."
He started down the stairs at a hurry, not liking the idea of being caught inside when the smoke got too thick, or the flames too close.
He made it to the second floor landing and paused long enough to glance down the length of the hallway, although there was little to see for the smoke already beginning to cloud against the ceilings. "Why not kill them? So they can go to jail? And then what, waste perfectly good tax dollars, getting three meals a day? So when they get out they can go back to their gang? Fuck that. Save everyone the trouble."
Seeing no signs of folks struggling to exit the building there, he pushed on to the first floor, where the smoke was at it's thickest and the heat was rapidly growing. The fire didn't seem to be moving like a normal one would; it was blossoming rather then spreading. "But what about their parents? Fuck their parents. They dropped the ball hard to put out shits like these guys."
He booted open the door to the outside, and walked out past the body of the last slaver. Whoever had shot the man had landed their round square in the bastard's brainpan. A quick glance around revealed biker boy's boyfriend was sprawled not far away in a pool of blood of his own. So this pretty boy hadn't done too well for himself either. And there was no sign of the kids...but that was probably Jensen's doing.
He crossed over to Connor, staring down at him for a long moment as if inspecting the wound, one hand resting dangerously close to his pistol, although he had no intention of shooting the man. "You two seem damn fucking intent to make sure I don't get to sleep tonight."
The wound didn't look bad. Not nearly as bad as it should have been anyway; maybe the round had been faulty, not enough powder?
He glanced at Jensen for a moment; the bastard was probably on the verge of tears at this point. How the fuck did these two expect to save twenty some drugged up kids from a bunch of gun-wielding criminals? Their hearts may have been in the right place, but fuck if they hadn't thought things through. He pulled a can of QuickClot spray from a pouch on his pocket and tossed it to Jensen before moving over to the dead men scattered around the parking lot to find the keys, "Close the wound and get him in the van."
The can of spray was a sort of foam, designed to help seal wounds and keep them clean until proper treatment could be provided at a hospital. The burning building was paid little heed; he'd seen plenty of them in his time. The fire raged unchecked, having spread impossibly fast for a building made mostly of concrete.
Hood stopped at the top step, and glanced at Jensen with a frown. For a moment, it may have seemed as if he were pondering further violence aimed at Jensen, but then there was the smell of smoke. The sound of a fire roaring from below. A moment later, smoke began to billow up the stair case from the first floor.
"You know, for a Texan, you sure as fuck don't seem to like direct problem resolutions."
He started down the stairs at a hurry, not liking the idea of being caught inside when the smoke got too thick, or the flames too close.
He made it to the second floor landing and paused long enough to glance down the length of the hallway, although there was little to see for the smoke already beginning to cloud against the ceilings. "Why not kill them? So they can go to jail? And then what, waste perfectly good tax dollars, getting three meals a day? So when they get out they can go back to their gang? Fuck that. Save everyone the trouble."
Seeing no signs of folks struggling to exit the building there, he pushed on to the first floor, where the smoke was at it's thickest and the heat was rapidly growing. The fire didn't seem to be moving like a normal one would; it was blossoming rather then spreading. "But what about their parents? Fuck their parents. They dropped the ball hard to put out shits like these guys."
He booted open the door to the outside, and walked out past the body of the last slaver. Whoever had shot the man had landed their round square in the bastard's brainpan. A quick glance around revealed biker boy's boyfriend was sprawled not far away in a pool of blood of his own. So this pretty boy hadn't done too well for himself either. And there was no sign of the kids...but that was probably Jensen's doing.
He crossed over to Connor, staring down at him for a long moment as if inspecting the wound, one hand resting dangerously close to his pistol, although he had no intention of shooting the man. "You two seem damn fucking intent to make sure I don't get to sleep tonight."
The wound didn't look bad. Not nearly as bad as it should have been anyway; maybe the round had been faulty, not enough powder?
He glanced at Jensen for a moment; the bastard was probably on the verge of tears at this point. How the fuck did these two expect to save twenty some drugged up kids from a bunch of gun-wielding criminals? Their hearts may have been in the right place, but fuck if they hadn't thought things through. He pulled a can of QuickClot spray from a pouch on his pocket and tossed it to Jensen before moving over to the dead men scattered around the parking lot to find the keys, "Close the wound and get him in the van."
The can of spray was a sort of foam, designed to help seal wounds and keep them clean until proper treatment could be provided at a hospital. The burning building was paid little heed; he'd seen plenty of them in his time. The fire raged unchecked, having spread impossibly fast for a building made mostly of concrete.