3-067: At the Front Door to Argyle’s Lodge XVII
Oliver’s not totally deaf, (he briefly had the Hard of Hearing disadvantage) and with that roll his ears recover almost instantly.
Behind the door you can hear a clicking noise, every two seconds. It sounds exactly like the firing pin of a small submachinegun falling on an empty chamber.
You poke your hand in the doorway and the left-hand turret does not move – Chris has taken it out. You poke it further around the door and the right hand turret swivels toward the movement and you hear the soft click.
When you remove your hand it swivels back to the flare and keeps clicking.
There is no further fire.
In the flare light, you cannot see anyone in the room, although it is possible someone could be concealed behind the counter. The three other doors are shut, and there is some kind of door or hatch cover over the stairs leading down.
A sickly, acrid burning smell is starting to come through the doorway from the scorched carpet under the flare.
“One’s down, ones out of ammo. Let’s go.”
I’ll enter first, swinging the door open cautiously, eyes on the turret, ready to duck back if need be.