Erich's breath hitched as his barrel remained levelled on the Director, and several of the bystanders pointing at him yelled to put the gun down. All the while, Hargreaves rattled on about various bits of information he'd shored up.
" - and if you can hold tight there for a minute, I don't think they've removed the chips in their uniforms. I'm counting five keyed in to this checkpoint, but there's only three dead here." - He noted. Erich wet his lips, his trigger finger twitching, then going limp as he slowly lowered his pistol; his compatriots did similar. Unless the 'bickering couple' act was some covert-ops reverse psychology trick meant to save their unarmed hides, it was possible they were just as set-up as he was.
As they (somewhat) lowered their weapons, Erich stated to those still startled and wary - "Someone's trapped us on this floor, and they've already killed several. Stay here." He had no idea if his attempt at placating the group of people slowly emerging out of cover in the room would believe him, much less do as asked. "...They've staggered their formation, and are now stationary. You said you're in a bar, right?"
The ex-Oberst paused to glance at the open doorway into the establishment. His mind - Still under the ultralucid cardamine symptoms - frantically churned. He was almost certain that Enfield was the last person to have walked inside, much less even passed down the hall. No sound of footsteps outside. It was 'night hours' there and traffic was in turn likely to be limited, but Erich felt a sort of 'grave silence' emnating from the hall that reminded him of the derelict, half-repaired, misshapen gantryways of Augsburg.
Inspiration revealed itself, abruptly, from within the foggy orange haze in his head.
Erich turned, again, to stare down Enfield. Approaching a little closer - Albeit without gun levelled upon him - He reached out and snatched his quarter-empty beerstein. Permission in this circumstance was apparently optional.
He turned back to the door, mumbling something into his wrist. The pair of armed compatriots slowly filed in behind him and paused at the entry alcove, waiting.
With stein in hand, Erich approached the doorway. He broke into an audible faux-run, his boots loudly hitting the metal, Daumann-steel floor. Just before reaching the doorway, he stopped, pitching the stein underhanded like in some Old Sol ninepins game. The moment it impacted the floor of the hallway - Even before it had the chance to spill most of its contents - It was vaporized by two or three shots fired from somewhere on the right-hand side. Pockmarked craters and the smell of ozone were all that remained of it.
"Freeport security on this particular station uses Zoner-made photonic blasters; cauterizing weapons. It's possible they don't want you bleeding out like the blokes at my feet here."
Schultz scowled, he too murmuring into his wrist.
"Assuming they're after Herr Klugmann, it means that they want to bring him in maimed, but alive."
