Outmanned & Outgunned

Muzzle flashes flared, burning away at the heavy gloom. Shapes toppled and fell out of sight, cries acommpanying each volley of shots. "Dro—yo—wea—" someone was yelling. Alt and Johnny didn't take much notice; Alt didn't see if either of them had managed to nail him, but he stopped shouting before long anyway. A large, thickset silhouetter lumbered up toward her, and in response she turned up the butt of the Malorian to face him and clicked something into place on its body, making a spray of fire come spurting out of it to strike him full in the face. She didn't see if that had killed him, but he fell onto his back and stopped moving before long, anyway. The shooting went on for a while, the two of them diving back and forth between cover, Alt firing booming, heavy shots from the Malorian, Johnny sending out wild sprays of bullets from the rifle, toppling lines of huscle like bowling pins.
Eventually, there came a point where the booming, heavy shots were abruptly replaced by light, harmless clicks. Alt cursed and lowered the gun, slapping it against the hard shell of the booth she was crouched behind in frustration. Johnny kept on shooting for about half a minute, before he too finally ran out. The return fire from the hired guns fell silent, then Alt heard a loud clattering, followed by Silverhand calling out to her, "Well's bone dry, Alt. No other way to say it: we're up shit creek without a paddle."
"Damn straight you are!" A loud, low voice cut in. "By the sound of it he's already dropped his weapon, that just leaves you, sweet cheeks!"
Alt sucked air in through gritted teeth. "We just gunned down how many of your guys? You telling me you're gonna accept our surrender now?"
"If it was up to me, no, I'd shove my foot up both of your asses and then double-tap ya for good measure. Fact is, though, I ain't calling the shots. Clients paid good money to bring in an...Alt Cunningham? That's you, I'm thinkin', woman's voice and all, and that body..." he made an appreciative sound.
"Anyway, what we—what they want is you, so come on out here."
"What about my guy?" Alt asked. "You gonna double-tap him?"
"Waste of a bullet, unless of course he gets in our way. You gonna get in our way, Mr. Big Shot Rockerboy?"
A pause, then Johnny's reply, "Gonna have to waste that bullet, hombre, ain't about to let you take my girl."
"Johnny!" Alt snapped. "This isn't the time!" He was an idiot, too stupid to be brave, convinced he was invincible. Silverhand would happily put himself in harm's way, though she'd never been quite sure if it was for her benefit, or just a way to make himself feel that bit bigger. Whatever the case, something about the way this one was speaking, the...casualness of it, told her this wasn't the time to put it to the test. "I'll go."
Johnny sounded incredulous. "You'll go? Are you full-on gonk, Alt? You think Saka's a nice place to be? You think these meatheads are taking you anywhere you'd wanna go?"
"Johnny," she repeated. "...Trust me."
Another pause, so long she thought he was about to do something stupid, then, "Not gonna go and get yourself killed. Not on my watch."
"Yeah, well...ain't your watch. Ain't anybody's watch but mine."
"We'll see." Johnny growled.
Gingerly, Alt came out from behind the booth, hands raised. What was left of the hired guns were waiting, aim trained on her. One man stood apart from them—bald, dark-skinned, clean-shaven—the only one not wearing a helmet. "Alt Cunningham," He grinned. "Pleased to finally meet ya." He turned to the side and motioned to a set of double-doors behind him, his men parting to accomodate her. "After you."
"Where we goin'?" Alt questioned.
"I think you know."
She did. They were going to the only place that made sense, the only place with enough strength behind it to bring in this level of **** just for her. Arasaka Tower, then. Alt nodded, taking one step, then another, until she was past the line of gunmen and walking through the doors; heavy, regimented footsteps following close behind.
Johnny listened to the receding footsteps, shaking his head over and over again. Shouldn't have let her go with 'em, shouldn't have let any of it go down that way. Now she's gone, now they've taken her. Johnny clenched his silver hand, so hard he swore he could feel the chrome starting to buckle under his fingertips. Won't let it stand, he thought. Can't let it stand.