Two shots rang out in the night. Kirk had been shot at before. Granted, last time he'd had plenty of cover and a phaser in his hand to fire back, but the essential strategy remained the same: don't get shot. Spock could've explained the exact differences between a metal bullet and phaser fire, but Kirk was sure that either way, it would hurt like hell. No time to dodge, not if he didn't want to risk his companion getting shot. He moved as fast as he could, angling his body lower, only to realize too late that the gunman was aiming low in the first place.

The snow-covered field shifted; pain exploded from his upper arm as a bullet tore through it, and the grip of the glasses-wearing man was suddenly hard on him, and they were still running. Something had happened, but Kirk wasn't going to question it. Wichita was right up ahead, and they had less than seconds to lose. Aiming low or not, he did not believe the gunman had been brainwashed to give a shit about the patients' lives.

"Grab her!" Kirk yelled to Glasses. His plan was desperate, stupid and probably not a little reckless, but he didn't see anyone else coming up with ideas. His companion's other hand closed on Wichita's arm, and Kirk brought his metal pipe up and slammed it down on the silver ring on his finger.

The red stone shattered.

[to here]