As if on cue, Pandora rose from behind her section of wall and fired a few shots. She came down and Monroe rose to fire, then Adam, with Sotiria’s blind shots adding their voice to the song every so often. The group wasn’t making any headway, but their suppressive fire was at least keeping the authorities at bay.
“Adam, we have to move!” yelled Pandora.
“Make a path,” he replied. She nodded her pink head.
“Aw Hell,” muttered Monroe under his breath.
“Here we go,” Sotiria whined.
Pandora tumbled out from behind her hiding spot, opening fire as she regained her feet. Death sang out from the barrel of her rifle, each round finding its mark. She stormed toward the secondary blockade that protected the jet, taking cover where necessary, but advancing aggressively. Each time Pandora’s muzzle flashed, blood violently exited the body of one of her foes. The unique Synthia was a juggernaut on the battlefield.
Monroe followed behind Pandora, the large man’s assault rifle as lethal as he was powerful. His shots supplemented the deadly spray that belonged to the woman. An officer sprang out from behind the same piece of cover Monroe had ducked behind, leaping the barrier and bringing the butt of his rifle down at the black monster. Monroe caught the officer’s rifle and, with a powerful jerk of his arm, disarmed the man. He brought both rifles—his assailant’s and his own—around in a powerful swing, boxing the man’s ears with the weapons. Two thick fingers squeezed two triggers, and two barrels spat Hellfire at Monroe’s enemies.
Sotiria stumbled along behind the two soldiers, its pistol firing impotently in all directions. The Synthia had learned to feel fear, and it showed in its marksmanship. Adam brought up the rear, still feeling a little weak from his earlier wounds. Though whatever passed for the synthetic woman’s instincts screamed for it to throw down the pistol and surrender, it could not bring itself to disobey Pandora’s orders.
“You’re mine, pretty boy!” hollered a man with a riot shield. He bashed with the defensive item, knocking Adam off balance before swinging his stun-baton at the fugitive. Adam’s quick reflexes, though impaired by his earlier wound, allowed him to fall unceremoniously onto his rear end. The stun baton crackled overhead. Adam thrust his assault rifle up behind the riot shield, under the man’s jaw, and with a squeeze Adam had one less attacker to avoid.
“This way!” hollered Pandora, the helmet she wore modulating her voice into something gender-neutral. It was no longer a necessary precaution, but she had no time to adjust her helmet settings in the middle of the firefight. She led the charge toward the jet, moving around behind a shuttle bus to grant her group some cover.
“Keep going!” yelled Adam. “If they have this many agents here, this bus is probably—” he didn’t need to finish. The four fugitives moved as one, diving away from the bus as it suddenly shattered into a thousand fiery chunks of shrapnel.
“Up! Let’s move!” shouted Monroe. They sprang up to their feet and resumed their rush toward the jet.
“Cover me!” yelled Adam. He charged a parked car while Pandora and Monroe provided cover fire. The athletic man vaulted over the car’s hood, much to the surprise of the two police officers pinned down behind it. The butt of Adam’s rifle came down into the throat of one, then he reversed the motion and planted it squarely in the face of the other. “Let’s go!” he yelled to his companions. The jet was less than a hundred meters from his position, and he could tell that the number of guards between here and there was far less than he’d faced thus far.
“STOP THEM!” hollered Ben into his megaphone. He motioned to a few of the operatives near him to follow, then charged at the retreating forms of his former friends. Between Ben’s small force and the officials near the jet, Adam and his group were surrounded once more.
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M.A.I.D.S. [season 1]Science Fiction
[season 1] In the near-future, mankind succeeds in curing A.I.D.S. However, something much worse fills the void, an aggressive sickness that only affects females. Though only 50% of Earth's population is at risk of contracting M.A.I.D.S., the illne...