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((I can except such a thing, Fischig got horribly burned and still lived so I know his concern.))

Having stood on his feet he watched as canister was flung at the feet of the machines fused together legs. It seemed that his ploy had worked. Though the efforts of one of the others disturbed him. Hugging the robot and head butting it seemed a rather absurd idea. But Fischig didn't have long to think of it as a blast ripped through the room. Threatening the entire structure it lifted him off his feat and threw him forcibly a good half a dozen feet.

Thrown onto his back he tilted his head to looked upon what still stood. Fumbeling with the flamer he shut off the primer as he staggered to his feet. Slinging the weapon around to his back he winced but bore through the pain as he had always done. Drawing his sword he let the field along it ionize the air.

[Added]
But the weapon would serve no purpose, the monster was nothing more then scrap. Looking around he tried to make out shapes in the thrown up dust. "So who made it through this hell?"

((And just because I must...))

Just before Rage had struck James, he had... "accidentally" bounced off of the third-story window from where Sullivan was most likely sitting. From there, Rage fell on James.

"Hi, my name is Rage. Tanks fer' breakin' my fall," he said wearily.

Fischig walked over to them, the field about his blade was turned off so it was nothing more then a fancy greatsword he leaned on as he looked at the two. "Now isn't the time to be lieing around. Remeber we were ambushed here and the likely hood of there being others in whoever set us up employment is rather great. So Get to your feet if you can."

"Oh, you know, the usual," said Rage, not questioning why this guy knew that he owned a bar. "Hey!" He yelled at nobody in particular. "Someone stop the ride, I need to get off." This was followed moments later by "thanks."

He sat up after James had pushed him off, grasping his forehead in his hand. "Okay, now if you could just turn down that ringing sound... little more. Liiiitle more... there we go." Finally, he shot a look at James. "... don't you go getting any ideas now...."

"Sounds like a plan, James..." said Rage, wondering if his knee was supposed to bend that way as he got up. Apparently it was, since he didn't go toppling over when he stood. Now, his OTHER knee....

Was also fine, actually. He did notice that his right shoulder was broken. Again. And so were some of his ribs. Again. Sighing, and figuring that he'd be howling in pain as soon as the adrenaline kick wore off, he slid his katana back into it's scheathe and offered James his hand. "Need some help there, bud? If we get out of this one alive, I'm buying you a beer."

And with that, the arm successfully yanked Matthias Weinberg. The other arm, rather than grabbing the briefcase, was knocked to the side rather than losing its hand, since it wasn't held in place by anything. However, it was cut, but not deeply enough to actually matter. Both arms withdrew, carrying Weinberg out of the building.

(*YOINK!* Too bad I don't -actually- get the gold for doing that.

EDIT: How could I think that the knife was going to hit Rage's hand? What a weird mistake.)

"Thanks..." James took Rage's hand with his left, even if it meant twisting his hand to the side in order to grip it 'right', so that he could get a bit of help in standing on his one good leg.

James slid the knife back into the sheath at the back of his belt, and sort of hop-turned to the side so that he could reach with his left hand (for the sake of balance) and grab the handle of the briefcase on the floor beside him.

"I think getting outside, and subsequently, the ******** out of here, would probably be for the best..." James said, pointing towards the door that they had come in with his right hand. "I've got transportation... but no clue where the hell we are, really..."