[@Holmishire] 

Ariett's chucked backpack registered on some level of Luca's mind, though it was only a glancing contact and it didn't really slow him down. He hardly would have taken note at all, but for the soft-scream that accompanied it. [i]Damn it,[/i] he thought. [i]That's his fault, too![/i]

It wasn't. If Luca had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that Donny had only acted to protect himself, and by association the rest of the occupants of the vehicle. If it hadn't been for Donny, they all might be dead. Luca wasn't thinking clearly, so he didn't think any of these things. Instead, he thought [i]grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr[/i] or something along those lines. In the vastly-superior future civilization from which Luca came, great thinkers, psychologists, brain-wave scientists and the like had termed these sorts of thoughts "freaking the fuck out." Such a concept, alien though it may have seemed to the primitives in the modern era, described Luca's mental state perfectly. He charged on.

[@platinumskink]

Amelie had a bit more luck slowing the wild idiot's progress, but only a little. His sprint turned abruptly to the left, so that, without losing momentum or balance, he was suddenly running towards (and punching blindly at) a wall. He stopped short of actually striking said wall, bewildered. [i]How in the hell...... THIS IS HIS FAULT TOO! GGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR......[/i] Luca wheeled back around and ran at Donny anew. 

[@Doc Doctor]

From this new angle of approach, Luca could actually see the glint of the garrote wire a little better than when he was running head-on. Not that he recognized it as a garrote wire, per se -- more of a [i]grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr[/i]. A [i]dangerous grrrrrr[/i] to be sure, but still just a [i]grrrrrrrrrrr.[/i] He launched himself at the hitman and threw a mighty punch.

In the end, it was his own error that spared him from the wire. He ought to have known better than to initiate a leap in hazardous gravity conditions. His momentum carried him over the red-headed object of his rage, and face-first into the twisted roof of the blown-out Royce. He ricocheted off it with a metallic [i]clunk[/i], made louder by his own metal componentry, and settled into a nearly-stationary zero-g hover. As luck would have it, this all occurred right over the hitman's prone and ready position. 

Luca took another swing. He was too far away to reach. He took a second airborne swing just to confirm that he was out of range, then he tried (and failed) to swim his way over through the atmosphere. When at last it was clear that his efforts to inflict pain on the ginger were entirely futile, he let his arms drop. They floated instead, at awkward angles, but this was normal to Luca. "Dude, [i]please[/i] stop killing everybody we meet." His voice was remarkably calm -- perhaps that whack on the head had done him some good. In his mind, some of the muted growling had dulled, and a new thought filled in the absence: [i]be cool, be cool, be cool or he will cut you in half with his pinky.[/i]