Opening a door, rather foolishly on our way out of the vast basement complex underneath a secret society's building, reveals a pair of blue-skinned men. Their blueish hue is a bit weird, that they're completely nude certainly isn't proper, and that they are looking to bum-rush us has our hackles up.
Guns are drawn from those that have them. I don't have my hunting rifle, thinking that bringing it to gain unlawful access to a building would rather work against us were we caught, but weapons easier to conceal are brought to bear. Madame Za Za pulls out a tiny pistol, asking 'who has any weapons? I only have this one-shot Derringer'.
Richard Castle, private dick, readies his revolver, cheerily telling Za Za 'I recommend saving that for yourself. Or the kneecap of one of us.'
'Don't think I haven't considered that', she says. But as the blue men approach, with vicious attitudes, the guns are pointed towards their way and fired.
The Derringer is fired, reloaded, fired, and Castle's revolver needs four of its six shots to take down one of the men. But their eerie strength lets the second withstand the other two bullet wounds and engage physically. Old Man Cole is taken down first, and once Castle's revolver starts clicking against fired rounds the standing blue man deals a nasty blow that knocks our dick to the floor.
Without my rifle to aid the fight, I was trying to get our rescued missing person away from harm. But seeing two of our party injured, perhaps dying, enrages me. I charge forwards with my fists ready, and trade a couple of blows with the standing blue man. My second punch lands heavily, rupturing some vital organ, and dropping the attacker with more force than any of Castle's single bullets managed. If this doesn't get me a nickname, I don't know what will.
The threat is over. We tend to the wounds our friends received and carry them and our rescued man up and out of the building, managing to slam the door behind us, just to get us in to more trouble, but cheesing it effectively all the same.