People charged forth in mass, like an army filling the width of the warehouse, led by a dark figure with murder in his eyes—Tristan.
James was one of the first, with his tearing up, red eyes opened wide and a semiautomatic pistol held tight in both hands. Damien was not too far behind, but the rest were an indistinguishable mass of humans and bullets in the dark.
Another of the SWAT men fell from a lucky headshot, and the rest began running. Even now, their professionalism showed—they retreated in an organized way, covering each other and not being stuck in the narrow door.
'They hope that if they can hunker outside, we will eventually all choke on the tear gas, then they get reinforcements, and we get caught here like rats in a bucket!' Tristan understood immediately.
He evaluated possible tactics in a flash. His eyes zeroed on a gate control panel, which stayed miraculously not destroyed by the stray bullets, despite many holes in the surrounding wall.