Redding was still clutching the coach gun hard, he could've sworn that grenade was the end of Redding. But Brooks tossed it right back over, turning back to him, “We stay squatting back here any longer and we're done for!”

Redding swallowed, “You think I don't fucking know that?” He raised his voice over the screams and bullets. It was stating the obvious, and right now, talk of being done for was not helping him think. He breathed, this wasn't his first gunfight. The Vault-Girl asked about backdoors and that only put him in mind of how stupid the architect was that built this place. Anyone wanted to leave and not use the front door ought to just jump...out...a window...

He reckoned they could do just that, get some distance between- A gout of flame came so close overhead he could feel it drying up his eyes. He gritted his teeth, adrenaline helping him throw out his fear for anger, of which there was an endless pit of it in his younger years. He thought he'd leave the life of a thug behind and become a businessman. How stupid was he? “I've made better people than you disappear, Teresa!” He yelled, “Worse too!”

His mind was scrambling, they needed to get out from behind this counter but he didn't want to get crisped down to the bone. If only he had a grenade. Or... He scrambled over David's corpse, pushing it out of the way by the shoulders, “Lucky bastard got off easy...” He grumbled. Behind the counter were his rags, and there was the now-rare intact bottles on the shelf behind him. He snatched two down by the neck, stuffing the rags inside just enough. With his lighter, he set the rags aflame. “I'm going to throw these, you two're going to start shooting at that crazy bitch down there with the flamethrower.”

He didn't wait for them to voice their agreement or their complaints, just tossed the bottles as hard as he could, not caring where they landed. He just needed a distraction, and a distraction was what he got. He heard one of the mercenaries stumble from behind his overturned table, his left side in flames when he peeked out. Redding dashed from behind the bar while Big and Vault-Girl fired their guns over the counter, firing his own handgun along the way, and managing to catch the man on fire in the chest and neck, dropping him. He'd made it across the mile-wide room, breathing hard and near shitting himself. He turned to run down the hallway and a stabbing pain brought his thoughts to a unanimous halt. He reached down to his side and his hand came back red. He groaned, slumping against the wall somewhat  and turning his head towards footsteps.

They were not Big and Vault-Girl, unless they'd turned into raiders in the space between the bar and him. Funny thing, adrenaline, makes everything slow enough to notice stupid details. One of them had a boil on his face, a nasty thing, while his friend had no eyebrows and replaced them with an assortment of piercings. He raised the coach gun and emptied a barrel into Boil's face, obliterating his head, but before he could do the same to No-Brow, the raider had his gun up. Redding ducked out of the way without thinking and a line of bullet holes stippled the wall next to him, the last bullet ripping a hole in his shoulder. Redding could feel it, and he yelled. Redding's coach gun boomed and No-Brow caught the buckshot in his neck and chest, stumbling back with a choking gurgle and landing on his back. Redding threw the empty coach gun spinning stock over barrel into the head of the raider just coming around the corner. He caught two of Redding's nine-millimeters in his chest and stumbled to the side, falling to the ground.

Teresa rounded the corner and that was probably the most fear he'd felt at the sight of a woman. Then again, that gangly bitch barely qualified as one. “Bye, Redding.”

Before she could bring her flamethrower to bare, Redding sent himself at her, yelling at the top of his lungs. He slammed into her, picking her up as he ran and slamming her back against a wall. She reeled back with her head and cracked Redding's nose, sending a brilliant burst of light across his vision. He heard the throaty rasp of her machete leaving its sheath, “I said bye, Redding.”

“Fuck you, Teresa.” Redding brought his gun up but before he could squeeze the trigger the Fiend sent herself hurling at him with a shrill scream, swinging for his head but he ducked back. He went to kick her knee and break it, but she pulled her leg back. Redding fell backwards and swore, then he felt the biggest hands he'd ever felt take up two handfuls of his jacket and then he was flying. A pool table broke his fall and he sat slumping against it, trying in vain to drag in a breath. He looked up and caught eyes with Little, cradling a revolver. Between the terror in her eyes and the thumps of Sid's footsteps, he knew he'd be the death of this girl. He would've said sorry. But there weren't enough sorrys in the world to save her.

The moment was cut short when thick fingers snaked through Redding's hair and pulled him back before slamming his face into the stained green felt. Redding managed to grasp up a pool ball as he fell to his side on the ground. Sid grabbed him by the collar and he could feel hot breath on his face as he hauled him up to get eye-to-eye, his feet dangling above the ground, even being six foot. “I told you if we met again I'd open you right up and feed you what was inside.”

Redding was running out of fuck you's. He didn't get a chance to use the ball as Sid's big, stupid, thick skull of his smacked against his face twice. Again, he was made weightless and he crashed into a shelf, getting to all fours next to Little behind the pool table.