Markus thumbed the weapon to three round burst fire, shouldering the Daiedron-C87 and sending at least one of the first three rounds into the exposed neck of a fumbling guard. Arterial blood sprayed across the wall, dark and glistening in the light. My next burst struck his partner in the chest, but the body armor stopped it short. The last bullet cracked his helm, but it seemed to have only staggered the man. Then the indicator on the weapon blinked, acknowledging the gas-powered operation was done, and the ion power was now ignited, the chamber now filling with APR's. His next burst of bullets went straight through the staggered man's armor like nails through soft wood, ending his life, hot brass hitting the floor. 

The next second went by in what felt like a half minute. The doorman, whom Jocasta had punched with the heel of her hand, was recovering a mere meter from Markus' position. His hand was reaching for his sidearm, a scowl on his face, fresh spittle on his chin. Markus dropped his weapon, fully letting go of the compact assault rifle, using the time it fell to grab his [i]secare saber[/i], clearing it of its sheathe in record time. Even as the blade cleared, Markus was already taking one step to the right, realigning the blade to parallel the floor. Movement was waste, he had been taught. Instead of slashing widely, giving the man time to draw and fire his weapon, Markus merely stepped and moved his blade with the slightest bit of pressure, and then stepped back, the heel of his hand against the end of the hilt as he thrust. 

The thick blade penetrated the man's armor, sliding out of his back with crimson dripping from the wound. A low thrum of energy reverberated the length of the sword blade, and in one motion he withdrew the blade. The man's weakening hand pulled the trigger on his hastily drawn pistol, the 9mm firing a single shot into the wall before he collapsed. On camera it happened impressively quick, but to Markus, the information processed at a pace he found adequate enough to get the job done. 

Jocasta fired two rounds into the man on the wings, closest to Markus. He had just turned to aim down his sights at the unkempt merc, only for his arm to get hit by one of the rounds. Blood splotched onto the floor, but it was the least of the guard's concerns. The same arm was removed a single moment later from a quick slice of the sword. The arm fell to the floor, still clutching the submachine gun with its nerveless fingers. Markus saw the last man hesitating, and Markus decided not to leave it to chance. Instead of finishing the man he had made into an amputee, he kicked him in the chest to send him hitting the wall, and with Markus' last breath, he left the point of his sword a mere half a foot from the last remaining man's neck. 

Suddenly there was silence, save for the coughing and moaning of bleeding men. Markus did not look away from the last remaining guard, who quickly realized he was being given a chance to live. He shakily got to his knees, placing his hands behind his head. Markus nodded at his good sense, and then unceremoniously kicked him across the face. He gasped and fell to the floor, out cold. 

After a collection of lingering moments, Markus tore his eyes from the fallen men, watching Jocasta step out of the cover she had shanghaied. "Not bad," he told her, the blade's shimmer ionizing the blood within seconds. He shut the saber off and sheathed it. "Shut the door," he told her. As she went to do that, Markus knelt down next to the man who's arm he had removed, patting the man down for medi-gel. When he couldn't find any, Markus shook his head, sighing. These men were not following standard security regulations. The two of them didn't have time to upend the entire place to find any packs either, and he spent a moment regarding the dying man, who even now was slipping into shock. 

"Red God bless you," He breathed, walking over to retrieve his gun, switching it to single shot and ending the man's life with a bullet to the forehead. 

"Now what, swordmaster?" His new partner asked, checking the doorman for anything to pawn. Markus reached into his satchel, retrieving a synthetic cleaning solution and a small, albeit thick, towel. 

"I'll clean the place up. You get into his suit." He said, indicating the unconscious form of the last guard. 

Jocasta began fixing her hair up, a smile on her full lips. "You just love getting me undressed," she joked. 

Markus sniffed a laugh. "Maybe after we're done." He replied without looking back, placing the items down on the bench and dragging the bodies into the closet. The convoy would be there in less than an hour, likely reduced in number and bewildered.