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Pen Your Pride

M.A.I.D.S. Episode 17 – Free and Brave

Eight local police cruisers and one mean-looking FIST truck formed a crude perimeter around the reinforced car in which Adam and his companions made their mad dash from Laramie to Edmonton.  Said car rested crazily on its side, protecting its occupants yet denying them safe means of egress.  Verbal warnings sounded over a megaphone, yet they were hitherto unheeded.

The occupants of the car were a little shaken up, but no worse for wear after their car had rolled.  The men surrounding them were on edge, one twitch away from unleashing lethal hail.  For a moment, for just a moment, tension remained balanced between fugitives and operatives, resting in silent harmony as if on the great scales of fate.

“Adam, this is your last warning.  Throw your weapons down and come out slowly.  If you fail to comply we will have no choice but to open fire,” the voice from the megaphone was known to those within the sideways car.

“Ben,” Adam practically spat the name.  Monroe nodded.  All eyes turned to Pandora, and Adam nodded to her.

“Fire on my mark!” hollered a self-important police lieutenant.  The men who had been issued CS gas took careful aim at the vehicle.  Fingers anxiously stroked their triggers, eager for release.

Silence emanated from the fugitives’ vehicle.  No hands appeared at the door, no head popped up as the occupants struggled for freedom.  No sound, no motion.  Just audible and visual silence.

“Mark!” the lieutenant hollered with gusto.  The order was met with the strange “fwoomp!” sounds of CS canisters being launched at the car.

The phoenix rose from her ashes, erupting from the dying hulk of the ruined car.  Pink battle armor was radiant in the spotlights, twisting with the deadly grace of a gathering tornado.  CS canisters rained in like streamers at a surprise party and were deflected by pink gauntlets, boots, elbows, and knees.  The rejected canisters surrounded the car, granting Pandora concealment as her assault rifle sang a requiem in a bold, imperious voice.  She landed next to the car, unseen by her enemies.

The windshield of the car shattered outward in a hail of deadly shards, followed by the exponentially more deadly Monroe.  His ham-sized fists were wrapped around a shotgun, and they turned the weapon so that it could unleash its deadly spray on a group of officers that stood between him and the jet he planned to hijack.

Adam and Sotiria surged out of the car behind Monroe.  Adam opened fire with his HAMR’s grenade launcher, punching a hole through the cordon.  He quickly reloaded the weapon and fired a second grenade to cover his retreat, the explosive sailing over his ruined car to land just short of the blockade on the other side.

“RUN!” yelled Adam without necessity.  His three companions were already making a beeline toward the jet.  They soon learned, however, that the local authorities had planned for this outcome, and they came under fire once more.  The group found some chest-high cover provided by some cement dividers.

“What now?” asked Sotiria.  The Synthia blind-fired her pistol over the wall, unwilling to expose anything larger than the hand holding the gun.

“We get to that damn jet!” Adam responded.

“What’s plan B?” asked Monroe.  The large man popped up over cover and squeezed off a few rounds.  A satisfying scream answered his attack.

“I think I left it back in the car.  Oh well, we don’t need it,” Adam quipped.  The first son of a Synthia exposed himself to the enemy and let spray his assault rifle at them before droppin behind cover once more.

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