She’s rescued

“Frag fragging frag!” Peregrine screamed out her frustration as the van refused to start again. Ripping out the plugs, Peregrine pulled out her Warhawk just as one of the rioters who had pushed the burning car out into the road came up to the van.

The driver side window had been shattered in the crash, so Peregrine could hear the male human scream “Get out, you Keeb whore!” before he twitched a little as a round from her Warhawk hit him in the face, the massive .357 slug more or less guaranteeing that he was dead before he hit the ground.

That would slow them down a little, Peregrine guessed, but she only had four 6-round moon clips for her Warhawk, and a couple of clips for her short-range and low-calibre Walther. Not great for a prolonged firefight, and her odds of escaping on foot weren’t exactly brilliant.

“Peregrine to Tyr and Simon,” Peregrine didn’t like calling for help, but she didn’t really have a choice judging from how things were shaping up, “I’m immobilized and pinned down!”

A couple of seconds went by before Peregrine got to hear Simon’s voice sound out a “Roger” as she heard the rising sound of an approaching car.

By now, the rioters were about twenty feet away from the van and looking ready to rush it as Peregrine prepared herself to sell her life as dearly as she could. She'd already fired her first half-dozen rounds at the rioters nearest to the van, forcing them to pull back with a couple more casualties.

Then the sound of an oncoming vehicle rose even louder as the team’s GMC Bison came barging onto the scene, with Mr. Clean jumping out of the front passenger’s door even before the Bison had slid to a halt in between the van and the crowd, a murderous grin on his face as he held his Ares High Velocity **** Rifle in his hands.

The rioters were already screaming out charming things such as “Fragging Trogs!”, and then a popping noise could be heard as one of them got the bright idea to try and shoot a troll with a low-calibre pistol.

The bullet struck Mr. Clean in the chest, barely making him flinch as his natural toughness was reinforced by Level Two Dermal Armour, and somebody would no doubt be feeling very fragged by the point that the sound of the flattened pistol bullet landing on the tarmac could be heard.

“Real smart, drekhead.” Mr. Clean declared, although the “head”-part couldn’t be heard over the roar of his HVAR releasing ten rounds or so from its extended mag, the bullets ripping into the woman who had just tried to take him down with a small pistol.

Even as Mr. Clean went on to empty the rest of the magazine into the now panicking rioters, Simon was running towards the immobilized van.

Peregrine was struggling to **** open the battered door on her side of the van, only to find that the lock-mechanism must have been damaged in the collision with the bench.

Then Simon showed up outside the smashed window, and let out a passionate “Move!” as he simply grabbed hold of the door and ripped it off its hinges, tossing it away so that it nearly smashed into a small band of fleeing rioters, and pulled Peregrine out of the van.

“Where’s the others?!” Peregrine cried out, but Simon simply ignored this and responded “I’ll get the drones, get into the Bison!”

As Simon stayed behind to salvage the drones, Peregrine stumbled towards the Bison, being reminded of the fact that she had been a little bruised in the crash as she moved across the street.

The riotous crowd had by now been dispersed, although Mr. Clean had reloaded the HVAR and was taking pot-shots at any targets that he might find, when Peregrine reached the Bison and climbed into the driver’s seat, only now realizing that Simon had shown way too fast for him to have begun moving towards her in response to her distress call.

“Mr. Clean, time to move!” Simon screamed out as he ran towards the Bison, carrying one drone in each arm.