Spire's narrow-eyed smile didn't budge as Johnny monologued. He didn't even blink. He waited--by all accounts, composed--until Johnny was finished.

[color=lightgray]"Well. I've talked Toby into doing worse,"[/color] Spire said at length. [color=lightgray]"I couldn't ask for a much better deal from this corner I'm in, could I?"[/color]

Spire didn't have a hot temper. He wasn't one to fly into a rage. For all his violent inclinations, he didn't consider himself easily ruffled. He maintained his sense of cool control.

But Spire wanted to kill Sweet Johnny Bellataire. And not in the casual way he wouldn't mind killing most people (ie clean, simple, but not too quick). Nah. Sweet Johnny Bellataire had ignited in Spire the kind of personal, altogether basic emotional urge to tackle someone and punch them, as hard as humanly possible.

So Spire wanted to hit Johnny hard.
At least seventeen times.
With a blunt pointed object.

Every word the man said grated at him like sandpaper on flesh. This setup would not hold up long term, if for no other reason than prolonged contact with this odious individual would drive him insane. But it wasn't just that. If Spire thought this scenario through to its logical destination, he knew it wouldn't end in a pleasant place. Spire knew as sure as sight that Toby would dig his heels in and refuse to capture people for this man, threat of death or not. Hel's situation might turn out just as bad. Johnny's regime wouldn't tolerate some of the things she did the way the Wanderers did. At best, all Spire was doing by agreeing to Johnny's offer was buying time until he found an opening for a course correction.

Reigning his impulses in, he reached back to put a hand Hel's shoulder. [color=lightgray]"Kid. Remember when we talked about when it's important to be nice to people?"[/color] He hoped she did. The long and short of it was that sometimes you have to be nice to people, because if they like you they're more likely to do what you want them to. [color=lightgray]"Say sorry to Mags, okay? Then we--"[/color]

That opening for a course correction came sooner than he expected.

[color=red]"COME ON, TRUCK. NOW, GRAB EVERYONE AND GET THE HELL IN HERE!"[/color]

Spire stood close to the garage door as Dutch forced it open. The proximity was really what made his mind up, with how easy it was to encourage Hel--practically throw her--into the arms of people Spire trusted. Well. Into the arms of Dutch and Dawn, specifically, since they were right there. Funny, how he trusted even Dutch, the worst of them, better than he trusted his chances with Sweet Johnny and his crew.

[color=lightgray]"Don't let them take her,"[/color] was all he really had time to say before he knew he had to move, fast, if he wanted any chance at helping Toby.

"Them" implied more than just these slavers, because Spire knew this might not be a short term parting.

Immediately, Spire aimed his gun toward the slavers whom he knew had been aimimg at him. He was not the careful, accurate shot Toby was, but by emptying half the magazine of his 9mm handgun toward center masses, and by three strokes of luck that caused three stunning rounds to miss him, he cleared them from his path. The first people he'd killed in ages, happening too fast for him to even remember to enjoy it.

Half his thoughts remained with the car. Dawn was...Dawn was okay. Had he seen Soren and Clockwork in there? They were okay too. And Drake. Collectively, they'd keep Hel safe.

The other half of his thoughts rested with the task at hand. Despite all the big-talk with the nukes and the armored vehicles and the small army, Spire had a feeling Bellataire's little minions would happily uncollar Toby if Spire could put the hot barrel of a well-used pistol to that weasel Johnny's temple.

The man who'd collared Toby was taking aim at Spire, but Toby did his part, tripping him, interrupting his shot.

Spire had almost reached them and the gun uttered two more loud pops. The shots found target at close range, one in the neck, one in the head The result was messy, a spurt and a spatter of thick red matter over closest bystanders, Toby and Mags. Mags, whom Spire turned the weapon on next.

It would have been an almost point-blank shot to the face, but,

No bang.
Jammed.

All those strokes of luck had earned him a smack of misfortune.

Spire could see the round caught in the ejection port. It took him less than two seconds to tap the bottom of the magazine to seat it properly, then rack back the slide to eject the spent bullet so he could fire again, but that was too long.