[b][center][h3]The Trade Market[/h3][/center][/b] 
New brooch now donned, the day had become that much brighter for Armadeus. However, it didn't take a savant to notice something had changed. Something in the air... Fear perhaps? No, anticipation. Glancing around himself, he noticed he now stood alone in the now empty market, only the backs of individuals turning corners or closing their doors told him that he hadn't imagined them being there in the first place. One back stood out in particular, a white robed and hooded figure departing with an almost mechanical movement.
[b]"You ther-"[/b] The wind was pushed out of him as a solid-slug buried itself into his left shoulder, mere inches away from the bronze brooch, which would have glinted in the sunlight had a fleck of blood not covered its surface. The impact sending the Seneschal into the well trodden dirt of the trade market.

He lay there for a second, expecting more pain to follow and perhaps, the sweet embrace of death as a sticky warmth spread out across his shoulder. It was not to arrive, the unmistakable rattle of an Autogun firing with reckless abandon brought him back to his senses. However, the solid projectiles were not for him. Senses slighted, coat muddied and brooch bloodied Armadeus quickly rose to his feet, scrambling despite the harrowing protests from his wounded shoulder towards the closest storefront and throwing himself over and behind it.  

Grunting at the pain in his shoulder, one hand found itself sliding within the folds of his coat, grasping the hilt of the Bolt pistol hidden within and drawing it free as he slowly peered over the top of the wooden stall. The scent of blood was in the air, the four gangers he'd seen previously, just barely adults now lay in a pool of their own life's blood, cut apart by rounds from an autogun. Nearby a grinning man stood, a red fist donned the flak armour covering the man's chest, which looked to have been put together by scraps of two separate breastplates. An autogun hung over his shoulder, a string of smoke escaping from it's barrel. 

[b]"The bastard that must have shot me."[/b] Armadeus muttered to himself, as he rose slowly, the Bolt pistol raised before him and towards the Red Fist. The grinning man felt the impact shatter through his side, ribs and all as a self-propelled kinetic round tor it's way through his homemade armour and then body sending him sprawling into the dirt and gurgling, before he heard it.

Ducking back down behind the improvised cover. Armadeus with his honour repaired, the sticky pain in his shoulder however was still present, as he looked to taking in his surroundings, bolt pistol held against his rising and falling chest.