As Charlie heard their words, he lowered his weapon, wanting to avoid messing with such a powerful group. If you messed with the C.M.I, so many rumors about you could be brought up and put against you.Trixie bit her lip. She hadn't thought of that; had barely registered that a gun could do so much more than a knife. "It's okay. I'll manage," Trixie said, ignoring the small part of her that rejected her statement. "Maybe I'll throw it, or something. I can handle myself. And you don't have to protect me," she added, stepping to stand next to Charlie, instead of behind him. Her heart was in her mouth, so loud that she marveled that Charlie couldn't hear it.
The gunshots and footsteps came closer, forcing Trixie's muscles to tense, her hand at the knife on her hip. Her stomach had a horrid, achy feel to it. I won't feel the pain if they put a bullet through my head, Trixie joked dryly.
All of a sudden, a large group of men and women rounded the corner, clad in black, with guns at their shoulders. "We are the C.M.I," one of them said. "And we are prepared to shoot."
Slowly putting away his weapon, Charlie avoided making eye contact and instead looked at their weapons cautiously as he asked a pretty reasonable question.
"What's the issue?"