That stalled them. Just for a breath. Then movement on the far end—more bodies filtering in. Fifteen, maybe twenty now. Some faces he recognized from the basement crowd. Others were new. Fear had curdled into aggression; someone had stoked it.
"We're taking that rifle," a woman said, voice shaking as she held the chair leg like a spear. "You don't belong here."
Riku's gaze cut past her, into the deeper shadows. He didn't see Murata. That made his jaw tighten.
"Riku," Miko said quietly, "permission to escalate if they try again."
"Negative," he said. "No headshots. No kills. We're not turning this place into a war."
"Then what?" Ichika whispered. "They won't stop."
"They will," Riku said, "when someone's shoulder gives out."
