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[@Lugubrious] [@Sho Minazuki]

"Negative." Benjamin said into the radio after a long pause, scowling. Survivors and wounded. Emphasis on the [i]and[/i]. Implied the wounded was one of their own, not one of the survivors. JCL was further from the ship, too. His first instinct was to send Amy to help them, or Lauren or Sangue. But no  matter who he sent they'd have to reach the lower levels alone, and either he or one of his teammates guarding the survivors would be alone. Could they handle it? Probably, on all counts. But this place was deadly. Opening up one of his teammates, or their wards, to additional danger had the potential to be a devastating tactical blunder. Nothing he could do.

... Yet.

"We have survivors of our own to guard. Amy and I are sweeping the last of the residential rooms. Once we do I can send them back to the ship and be on my way. Ten, fifteen minutes. Maybe less." A beat, and he added; "We'll hurry."

"Amy, guard Moss' door and cover me." He jerked a thumb towards the closed, locked door and then pointed to the slightly open one belonging to one "M. Millade". "You've got a good line of fire. If it's not human, it dies. Anything tries to get into Moss' room, it dies. Anything with red eyes, it dies. You get the picture. Let's make this quick."

As soon as she nodded, Ben was moving towards the other room. He flipped Artorius and Lawnslot forward into a reverse grip, and pressed two buttons in quick succession. The first triggered the release on Lawnslot's battery, sending Aura flooding into his body. The gauge on his BaSTEEL's cheerfully swelled to an immense degree, registering, after the flood subsided, an Aura reserve of 186%. More than enough. The second function was a little more impressive. While their owner stalked forward towards the door, Artorius and Lawnslot released a locking mechanism with an audible [i]click[/i]. Their blades rotated out ninety degrees in unison, stopping with the satisfying sound of metal on metal. The shotgun assembly now completely exposed, it slid forward on previously concealed rails towards the sharp side of the perpendicular blades. Lawnslot was passed to his right hand, both tonfa seeking their other half. Once they found it, they connected at the hilt with a heavy [i]click[/i]. Locking mechanisms engaged. Lawnslot's handle slid down on an unseen pole at its center, a pole that slid smoothly through a channel at its twin handle's grip to align both in single line. Bastille's leader closed his hand around the new, two-handed grip easily, listening to the satisfying series of whirrs and clicks as the shotgun assemblies connected into a single, solid crossguard. 

Finally, as Ben reached the door, three soft [i]schinks[/i] of well-oiled metal sliding against metal ending in a soft [i]clack[/i] when it reached the end of its rail in quick succession as the previously forearm-length blades extended on three hidden, telescoping segments. He swung Caletfwlch once, cutting through the air to double-check the sword's integrity, before placing his left hand on the handle, thumb on the trigger mechanisms, and bringing it up to a ready position. 

Rather than give anything potentially waiting on the other side any warning, Ben kicked open the door to Millade's room [i]hard[/i], stepping through the open doorway in the same breath, prepared to cleave any enemy waiting beyond in half with a fraction of a second's notice.