He's up and going. Everything blurs as soon as he's past it, but it's all headache inducingly sharp before it rolls past, each thought and glance and decision. He hears a crash from around the house, and shouts heading towards the street -- Doran must have made a run for it, and it sounds like Steve's in pursuit.
He runs.
His arm is a dull ache somewhere far behind the adrenaline pushing out the pain, all of it thudding into his temples the way his feet are thudding on the ground, heading for the middle of the little ramshackle village, towards the shriek of breaks and the crash of breaking glass.
There's a few little canopies he's just getting to, when a commotion flurries in front of him: Doran, dragging a woman out of a car and putting her into a headlock, Doran panicking, Doran threatening.
Steve. Who has a gun on him, but is trying to talk him down, even when it's not going to work. Everyone's still, the air strung tight with tension, and then Steve lowers his gun.
It happens in less than a heartbeat. Steve's gun isn't even all the way down before Danny catches the motion: Doran, lifting his, not to the woman he's got hostage, but towards Steve. He doesn't think,: aims, breathes out, squeezes the trigger. Another window shatters. Another woman screams, and Doran goes down like a sack of wet flour, heavy, and when he hits the ground, he doesn't get up again.
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He runs.
His arm is a dull ache somewhere far behind the adrenaline pushing out the pain, all of it thudding into his temples the way his feet are thudding on the ground, heading for the middle of the little ramshackle village, towards the shriek of breaks and the crash of breaking glass.
There's a few little canopies he's just getting to, when a commotion flurries in front of him: Doran, dragging a woman out of a car and putting her into a headlock, Doran panicking, Doran threatening.
Steve. Who has a gun on him, but is trying to talk him down, even when it's not going to work. Everyone's still, the air strung tight with tension, and then Steve lowers his gun.
It happens in less than a heartbeat. Steve's gun isn't even all the way down before Danny catches the motion: Doran, lifting his, not to the woman he's got hostage, but towards Steve. He doesn't think,: aims, breathes out, squeezes the trigger. Another window shatters. Another woman screams, and Doran goes down like a sack of wet flour, heavy, and when he hits the ground, he doesn't get up again.