Love Loss blitz

Love Lost screamed. The scream hit Nailbiter and several members of the Patrol. That it hit Nailbiter didn't really matter. Nails was filled with piss, vinegar, and rabies, and having the dial set to ten on 'rage' didn't change a lot. It made her more intense, aggressive, and focused, and far less likely to choose any option that wasn't 'fight more'. It did the same to her enemies, but they weren't going to win that fucking fight.

*

"Run!" someone gave the order. A captain, who twisted around and aimed to open fire with their assault rifle. Disjoint fucked with their aim.

They were already running, but they were running on a battlefield obstructed by their rage-filled allies, with parked vehicles here and there, and all of the other normal obstacles of a sidewalk, like mailboxes, trash cans, and trees. Those things funneled them.

*

But Disjoint was occupied, which meant he couldn't do much as one of the men with the riot shields raised his rifle, aiming it around the shield. Sidepiece had to run for it, hurling herself to the ground. There wasn't much cover there, she was a sitting duck, and she knew she made a better target than some, given her proportions.

But she was near some of the wounded patrol officers, and the man with the rifle wasn't willing to risk hitting them.

She hadn't even seen Love Lost start moving, but she saw the middle and end of the movement- a shape along the wall, hair and dress flapping, claws sparking as they hit stone and brick, and then the plunging descent, feet planted squarely on the captain's shoulders, driving him to the ground.
She leaped forward from there, and her claws scraped the plexiglass riot shields as she slipped between them.

Without turning around, she reached back to scratch both men. Ragged cuts- one at the side of the leg, the other from thigh to armpit.

Love Lost panted as she turned around, surveying the fallen, her mask dangling with one side attached at the right side of her jaw, the other unclasped. The pants weren't normal ones, either- there was a note of something in them.

Almost a whimper, or the pained intake of breath between screams, except the screams had been a minute or two ago, not a second ago.

With the attachment of the mask, she composed herself in posture, straightening to her full height. Her claws ran through hair, a stroke of the back of the hand smoothed out the dress.

The look in her eyes took longer. Wild, almost crazed.

Then calmer. A perpetual glare.

- Interlude 11a