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Bush glanced back sharply at Cado. "Wait. Four agents, that's how many you..." She jerked sideways, spraying blood onto the seat across from her. The car twitched, but she didn't stop driving; she was alive and capable, just badly injured. Moreover, sirens were beginning to become apparent. Bush groaned in pain, despite her rapidly rising adrenaline levels. "We've got to get out of here," she told them, flooring it and ignoring other vehicles and speed limits alike.

The boatman, meanwhile, tried to get an idea of where the fire had come from. Out of the smoke and out of the dark sewers, they could get a better idea of what he looked like. His faced was lined, and his eyes looked only half-opened continuously. He clearly was actively avoiding shaving. His manner of dress was a tan buttoned up shirt, perhaps a few sizes too large, with pockets sewn on to contain magazines (some looked specifically designed for the P90). His pants were loose (to the point he needed a belt) and khaki; on his right thigh, he had strapped a 1911.

He still sort of smelled like the sewer.

"Nothing serious," Cado replied through gritted teeth, disconnecting the sleeves at the shoulders, exposing hairless arms with a bullet wound each.

Cado shook his head. Again with the gritted teeth, "Keep them. I have my own in my agent systems, but I don't need them right now."

Agent Bush grunted. "You just sustained arm injuries? What in the hell are you whining about?" she snapped, glancing down at her chest, which was pulsing some small amount of blood but clearly to her heartbeat, which was rather fast. "Geh, someone else might need to take over for me," she commented as another gunshot rang out. This time, Cado's eyebrows would've been singed, if he had any. Which he didn't. Instead it came so close it felt like running a belt sander over the eyebrow ridge. As in, painful.

The boatman cried out in victory, leaned across Marcus, and fired about six shots before another gunshot tore out flesh from his right shoulder. He fell back with a grunt, then snatched the pills from Marcus. "I could use some o' that," he muttered, downing them with a single gulp.

His target, however, made it clear why there was a problem; he had been firing at a police car that had been tailing them. Apparently he hadn't accomplished anything, because another gunshot rang out, and another hole appeared in the glass.

The problem Gabriel had was that he was driving an ordinary car. His opponent, on the other hand, was driving a police car, and that meant armor and perhaps even bullet-resistant glass.

Of course, though, a police car was not invulnerable to explosives.

The other opportunity to take down a target presented itself when the same man - no, agent - who had been firing before presented himself again, holding a... Mosin-Nagant? An old Russian rifle? Perhaps they had spent too much on these agents...

((Bullet-resistant, not bullet-proof. biggrin

Free Hints Remaining: Directly Proportional To My Boredom, And Thus At The Moment Infinite))

They exploded.

The police car exploded.

Bush grinned and held out a hand for Cado to give her a high-five.

((Have to go, probably won't be back tonight. Sorry, guys.))