Of course!

No one becomes a master assassin without having a lot of fight in her. Fennec pushed the tip of the cutlery hidden in her palm into her thigh unaware of the little hole she’d introduced along the dress’s seam. As expected, the pain cleared her mind of the ****.

The two enforcers approaching her split. The big guy with his rugged jaw and squeezable, rippling muscles went one way around the table, the swarthy woman with the red-stripe in her hair and long, taut physique went the other. Well, the pain mostly cleared her mind of the ****, but there was no time to worry about that right now.

Fennec flung the concealed cutlery into Mr. Muscles throat and flipped the table with her other hand in a single swift motion. The overturning furniture stunned Ms. Red-Stripe, who was in the middle of drawing her pistol. That moment’s hesitation allowed the mercenary to sweep Red-Stripe’s feet and shoot the woman with her own weapon. The enforcer went limp in the flash of a blue stun-bolt. At least that meant they wanted her alive, though that thought wasn't much comfort right now.

A strong grip locked onto her gun hand like a clamp and spun Fennec around.

“That hurt!” grunted Muscles with an oyster fork sticking out of his neck.

“Dank Farrik!” In her **** state she was sure she’d grabbed a knife. Won’t anything go right today?

With the gun immobilized, Muscles reached over with his other hand to pry the pistol from her grip. There was no way Fennec would be able to resist against his superior muscles, so she improvised, snatched off her left heel, and brought it into the fight. The enforcer had a confused look when the dainty footwear came down at him like a hammer before he too hit the floor, like a bag of hammers.

“What are you waiting for?” the Bothan bellowed. “Shoot the bitch!”

Stun bolts came flying in thick and fast. She curled behind her overturned table. Fennec gave her cover a push to send it rolling across the restaurant. The café-style table was so small she had to crawl along behind it on her elbows and knees. It was impossible to get an aimed shot off from this position but she lobbed blind bolts to discourage the others from moving.

A few spins and her table was near enough the floor-to-ceiling fish tank she could roll behind that. The glass was too thick for the blue sstun-bolts coming at her and she could finally fire back effectively. Fennec quickly dropped one with a stun blast to the head and toppled another with a shot to the leg as they scrambled for cover of their own. Half of the thugs were already ****. Her luck was finally starting to turn around!

A red blaster bolt flew through the tank, shattering it and drenching Fennec in a torrent of water that slammed her to the floor. The Bothan’s pistol was clearly set to kill. With the enforcers behind cover and her was a wide open target, this fight was lost.

Down to her last resort, she dove through the double doors with a **** cry, firing wild bolts as she went. Once on the other side, Fennec jammed her remaining shoe through the pull-handles just as a body slammed into the door. The heel strain under the pressure. It wouldn’t last long.

The master assassin pushed drenched hair from her face and took in her surroundings. She was on a small balcony still wet from that afternoon's rain. The lights and blurring traffic of Coronet City sprawled below her. Nothing useful on the balcony. No maintenance hatches in the walls she could use to escape. No service ladders up or down. Not even a ledge on the other side of the little railing.

The heel ripped off the shoe, the doors burst open, and thugs rushed in.