Suddenly, a trio of bullets slice through Cross' brainpan. The Triad Psion's eyes roll back in his head, and he drops to the ground. The figure from before appears, hefting a large revolver toward Apex, and pausing only to spit on Cross' corpse. [i]Sick trafficker -expletive-.[/i] He gestures with the barrel of his weapon, still smoking, towards the door. [i]Get moving, Mr. "Apex", and I'll pretend I didn't see you.[/i]