[h1]Gilgamesh HQ[/h1]

Suddenly, the roar of an engine filled the room as Antonio Hasta, the last crusader, burst into the room on a gleaming golden motorcycle. The chopper's exhaust pipes extended high behind him, resembling a pair of iron wings. The front itself resembled a crucifix, poised directly at the armed guards.

There was a brief moment of silence, or at least as silent as it could be with a Harley revving in an enclosed space. Hasta eyed the man fallen on the ground, and remembered the old adage, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend". That man with the prosthetic was no doubt some hapless bystander, falling pray to the heathens that filled the room.

Antonio's fist tightened around Gabriel.

"RIDE, ROCINANTE." he shouted, popping a wheelie before charging forward. The lance thrust through a singular guard before drifting across the room, carrying the hapless fiend like a gruesome flag. The bike slid to a stop behind Gene, and Hasta tossed the heretic off of his lance. The remaining guards dared open their fire a second time against an innocent.
Lance gave way to sword and shield, and Antonio leaned down, wrapping his arm around the prone form. Images of the Saints themselves deflected gunfire, such was their gift to the faithful. Once the volley ended, the engine gave a fierce roar to match the one escaping the paladin's lips as he charged the last two men. Some may argue that it was ignoble for cavalry to mow down infantry, but these men were long past mercy, or anything other than God's fury given shape.

Antonio stomped down on the kickstand and dismounted, his motorcycle dissolving into ethereal golden flames as he stepped away. He knelt by Gene's form, examining his body.
"He was shot, but bears no wounds. Probably beanbag rounds. I should prepare bandages." he said, removing his scarlet cape. As he began to tear off long strips, his eyes noticed something odd.
"His arm... how odd. Is that marble?" he put down his cape, and reached forward to grope the plated limb.