When the alleged perpetrator of a massacre at a US gay bar appeared in court, they clearly bore the scars of their encounter with the high-heel-wielding, pistol-whipping patrons of Club Q.
Bruised, bloody and slumped over in a wheelchair, Anderson Aldrich said nothing as lawyers discussed how their case would be handled.
The 22-year-old — whose lawyers say identifies as non-binary — is facing preliminary charges that include five counts of first-degree murder and "bias" crimes.
Police allege Anderson Aldrich — dressed in body armour and wielding a long rifle and handgun — burst into the club that is a haven for the LGBTQ community in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.
But local activists say the alleged assailant clearly misjudged their intended victims.
"We have five military bases in our town and I think sometimes people underestimate our ability to take care of ourselves," Carolyn Cathey, a local Colorado Springs LGBTQ activist, said.
"When our family is threatened, we're like mother bears. We protect our own. And they were certainly heroes [who] stepped in and stopped more mass carnage that could have happened."
For those who lost loved ones in the Club Q massacre, their wounds are invisible and far more difficult to heal.
Mass shootings are a terrifying, grim reality of daily life in America.
Only two days after the Colorado Springs massacre, a manager walked into the break room of a Walmart in Chesapeake, Virginia, and opened fire on his fellow employees.
He killed six people before turning the gun on himself.
As the country reels from the attacks, authorities in Colorado Springs are trying to unpick the assailant's murky motivations.
Local politicians and activists say whatever drove the alleged perpetrator in this tragedy, America's queer community has been living in fear of violence amid a wave of rising anti-LGBTQ rhetoric and laws.
How Club Q patrons fought back
Richard Fierro never expected his combat instincts to kick in as he and his family watched a drag performance at Club Q.
But when he heard the sudden pops of gunfire and saw flashes of light, his years on the battlefields of Iraq and Afghanistan took over.
Mr Fierro tackled the shooter to the floor and pistol-whipped them with their own weapon.
"It's the reflex," Fierro said of his decision to launch himself in the firing line without a second thought.
"Go. Go to the fire. Stop the action. Stop the activity. Don't let no-one get hurt."
Mr Fierro was not the only clubber who was determined to fight back.
A US Navy sailor helped him hold down the assailant, while a nearby patron kicked their weapons out of reach.
Meanwhile, a trans woman took off her high heel and whacked the perpetrator over the head with it.
Five people died in the shooting, including the boyfriend of Mr Fierro's daughter.
"He's a good kid. And I loved him," he said.
"I wish I could have saved everybody in there. I wish I could have done more."
The missed 'red flag'
A portrait of the shooter is slowly emerging, amid an ongoing police investigation.
However, much of the suspect's history and motivation remains a mystery.
To prove the shooting was a hate crime, prosecutors would have to show the assailant was motivated by the victims' sexual orientation or gender identity.
In a court filing, Anderson Aldrich's public defenders said their client wanted to be addressed by the pronouns them/they and the honorific Mx.
"It was kind of a shock, I think, to a lot of people to see that in the court document," said Colorado State Representative Brianna Titone.
"But it really doesn't change anything.
"I know people who are trans who have been indoctrinated by different hate groups. I know people that can be influenced, no matter what their identity is."
It has also emerged that the shooting is not the suspect's first encounter with police.
Last year, their mother called authorities and claimed her child was "threatening to cause harm to her with a homemade bomb, multiple weapons and ammunition", according to the local sheriff's office.
Police evacuated nearby homes and, after a three-hour stand-off, they surrendered to authorities.
They were booked on two counts of felony menacing and three counts of first-degree kidnapping.
But little else is known of the incident because the then 21-year-old was never charged and documents related to the case were sealed.
The decision to seal the court records meant that they eluded Colorado's "red flag" law that would have allowed police to seize any weapons and ammunition found in their home.
Prominent figures fear 'malicious intent' and 'violent tendencies'
LGBTQ activists in Colorado Springs describe their city as a "conservative" place, once dominated by a thriving evangelical Christian community that was openly hostile to gay people.
Club Q, an unassuming building that housed trivia nights, $1 shot parties and drag performances, was a bright spot for the queer community.
"We have had our issues with being very conservative and not as inclusive as some of the larger cities like Denver," Ms Cathey said.
"Our community would gather at Club Q. That was our hub. That was our social outlet, and where we could be ourselves and find community."
Once a critical swing state in presidential elections, Colorado has become increasingly liberal over the years as younger, diverse Americans moved in.
But the state's politics remain incredibly complex.
Colorado is home to the first openly gay governor in US history, Jared Polis.
It also narrowly re-elected far-right Congresswoman Lauren Boebert, who brandishes guns and rails against homosexuality, to her seat in the US House of Representatives last month.
LGBTQ Americans say the massacre at Club Q comes as they're being pummelled by anti-gay and anti-trans legislation proposed by conservative politicians.
"If you look at hate crime statistics in the US and in Colorado — specifically over the last few years — you'll see a marked uptick," Ms Titone said.
"That happened around 2018. It was a significant increase in hate-related crimes to the LGBT community."
As the state's first openly trans state representative, Ms Titone said she's extremely vigilant about her own personal safety.
"As someone who is in a prominent position, who is part of the trans community that's being singled out and under attack all the time, yeah, I'm concerned about what violent tendencies somebody may have [towards] me," she said.
"I am always looking out when I'm speaking in front of a large crowd, to make sure that I'm looking at the faces, to see if there's any malicious intent in their expression, or any movements that might seem suspect to me."
Despite the emerging threats, the LGBTQ community in Colorado Springs has no doubt they will eventually come together again in their Rocky Mountain haven.
"We are not strangers to adverse situations and events. We will rise again. We will heal. We are strong. We will come back," Ms Cathey said.
"We will dance, in spite of what some are trying to prevent. They can't take that from us."
