[b][u]The C.E./Elsie Detchkiss[/u][/b]

Elsie grabbed one of the bombs. She was used to [i]repairing[/i] bomb damage, not causing it. The device was a chunky metal box with terrifying cylindrical caps sticking out of the side. A small LCD said "Armed". Beneath the display was a simple three-button control pad: "Disarm", "Arm", and "Det. Seq.". Obviously the HoP wasn't concerned about collateral damage any more. Looking at the mob of undead things assaulting the shield line of cyborgs, that didn't particularly surprise Elsie. She ignited the plasma cutter, quickly dialling back the power to minimum. The heat that it gave off could easily burn nearby unshielded people, and Elsie needed to get through the army of police 'borgs first. Then she shoved the bomb into an auxiliary suit compartment, dumping out one of the power cells used to recharge her energy gun. It didn't seem like ranged weapons would be terribly useful here.

"Let me through, 'borg," Elsie shouted above the gunfire. Cyborgs back on the station were bound to Asimov's three laws; orders were followed or else the cyborg's circuits fried. The police line shuffled a bit around the edges, and Elsie squeezed through underneath a withering glare from the police cyborg. She was, in fact, shoved into the mass of death. "Wonderful," Elsie muttered, "Zombies."

The Dead Masks took advantage of the shove, and began to swarm over Elsie's hardsuit. Recovering from the stumble, she turned up the plasma cutter to full. The Dead Mask that had been tugging at the device had its arm liquified. Several of the others surrounding her were burned enough to at least stun them for a few moments. She swung the plasma cutter in a wide arc, cutting herself some breathing room. Gunfire came suspiciously close to hitting her suit, and she felt at least one of the Dead Masks slam inanimatedly against the back of her hardsuit. Mortar shells began whistling overhead, exploding violently somewhere to her right.

As Elsie settled into the familiar routine of exchanging blows with a horrific enemy, she was silently thankful for the internal air supply. Corpses smelled bad enough, but burning corpses were another story altogether. Rumors of zombie infections on other space stations and the unusual plethora of zombie literature on this Earth probably outlined the best course of action, but all Elsie could really remember were two things: 1. Don't get surrounded (she'd purposefully done so) and 2. Use ranged weapons.

"Damnit," she muttered. Hindsight told her that she'd had no choice; if she wanted to use the bomb, she had to do it somewhere [i]away[/i] from collateral targets (i.e. the police 'borgs). [i]Thunk![/i] went another mortar shell. It screamed through its arc and exploded violoently. At least they weren't hitting her. Yet. Without warning, the power cut out from all the nearby buildings. The wireframing goggles displayed snaking fissures in the pavement in bright green polygons. Apparently the zombies were smart enough to cut the power.