Brody tumbled, jerking with each shot, and his body dropped behind his truck. The sounds of the shots stopped echoing in through the garage. The air cooled after the barrage. There was quiet.

Then Brody stood back up. Very much alive, different only in the large holes in his Plasmatics tshirt and small angry welts forming where the bullets hit him. His glower was dark, and he hefted a massive crowbar from the ground in his hand and pointed at the woman in the middle of the group. His voice, usually bright and good natured, was very quiet and very cold and very sharp and very mean.

"I ain't one to appreciate gettin shot, but I'm still gonna try tah make this easy an ya'll. Put your guns down. Get outta here as quick as yer feet'll take you, and you see tomorrow. Stay..." He narrowed his eyes and let them cross over each one of the the Purifiers between stopping back on the middle one that had smiled at him, "...and I'll cram those guns so goddam far inside yah, you'll have to claim em on yer fuckin taxes."