Prowler laid on its back as mike calmed himself, dumb luck once again saving him from a similar fate as Arcade's. it wasn't supposed to be like this, they were merc's, outclassed in tech, and supposedly training, a civi gear lacked armor, the software, hell, even the cockpit wasn't set up for real battle! looking around, mike scanned the area leading up to the mine. no one was sneaking up behind them...yet. speaking of software, how in the nine hells did they get a marksman rifle anyway? 

"and her I am, lying around while murderous mercs shoot at my teammates." he paused regaining his focus. "tis not my place to ask why." he muttered as he rolled back to prone and crawled to the lip. "But causing chaos, and dismay to the enemy?, that I can do as well as the next guy" he growled.

<"Everyone! Shoot now! End it here!> [/I] Kuraiko yelled over his speakers. peaking over the top, mike noticed a particularly heavily painted gear had fell. the others seaming to group up in confusion.

<fair enough!> mike replied, Prowler getting on a knee as he quickly identified the marksman and began emptying the clip, hoping beyond hope that the enemy pilot would miss his shot. as the rounds left the mag, mike grew angry, but it burned cold, distant, calculating. the last shell flew from the rifle as mike switched to his shotgun, already loaded with 
60mm flechette rounds, each sending 16 3x8 cm tungsten rods speeding into the distance. The logical portion of mikes mind screamed at him to move, but moving would give them time to recover, there would be no rally if he could help it. prowler continued spewing death from its perch, defiant, angry, and empty of mercy, mike willed his metal shell to destroy the enemy before him. until they fell, or surrendered, he would keep shooting. 

A series of sharp, impacts brought mike from his thoughts, a quick check found nothing major damage wise. the craters from the armor were small, but surprisingly deep, a small caliber, but high powered. mike looked at the marksman as he fired again, this shell catching his right shoulder. mike sneered at the target. the rifle was maybe a 20mm at best, accurate, but lacking the sheer force from an auto platform. the small carbine it wielded could be deadly if mike didn't keep up the pressure, refusing the pilot the time he needed to find a weak point. Dropping the now empty shotgun mag, he fired the chambered shell as he fitted a new one. watching in dark glee as the under equipped gear was hit by the flechettes periodically.