Whatever respite could be found from the sweat summoning nawlins clime was wasted on Kali as she stood poised to drop from the slow circling roto-drone. Despite tonight's unorthodox cargo the no-nonsense Nissan maintained an aloof holding pattern which--barring a lapse in concentration or unforeseen circumstances--would endure for the remainder of the run. For her at least this paired poorly with the gnawing realization that everything was set to go off without a single hitch or spent shell once Cath and the token grunge started wagging their tongues. That's when Kali's shoddy excuse of a comm bayed at her from a coat pocket. 
 
Even that term might of been too generous for the brick of a thing razzing out static above the low thrum of the remote VTOL's spinning blades, closer to being extinct than outmoded. At the team's insistence and a certain elf's persuasion she'd been begrudgingly accept a comlink, and a reasonably priced one at that. It was her penchant for fencing them on, after and even before missions however that eventually saddled her with this cumbersome monstrosity, as there was no way she could feed her habit with what amounted to a very loud doorstop. Cradling it to ear like a self obsessed otolaryngologist she strained to piece together the chatter. 
 
"Kali, [color=8493ca]*BZZZT*[/color] we need you. [color=8493ca]*CRRRR*[/color] drop in through....skylight [color=8493ca]*ZZZT*[/color] brick anything.... 
 
By the time matters were in gravity's hands the rest was just white noise, she'd stopped maintaining her mystical balancing act and now the window was rushing up to meet her. With the joyous abandon of a diver catching a breath mid-cannonball her lungs filled with another substance entirely, lips forming a seal around a small inhaler during the descent. Like all freefalls it met with an abrupt end as shards of broken glass caught the light around her and trapped the surprised reflections of a small cadre of orks and trolls. Were it not for how often she threw herself through assorted lunettes and oriels the now sprinting stim-jockey would have ended up smack dab in the center of them, as opposed to beating a mad dash down the overhead lighting courtesy of a traceless walk. In the confusion some orks had dove for cover under the rickety walkway while an unlucky few cursed at being caught in the cutting downpour. The trolls were suitably unperturbed, content to simply spray automatic fire into the ceiling and draw a bead on the intruder. 
 
With that particular hornet's nest buzzing up a storm behind her Kali breached the long hall that fed into the break room, barreling into another pair of suspiciously well -armed 'workers' with bone jarring force. Her bones, precisely, she'd of stood a better chance of running clear through the far wall than knocking over the nonplussed troll that had absorbed her tackle. He didn't even drop his sandwich, not before she'd started chopping him down with the fan of a hammer. Stereotype, heuristic or hot heap of bunk it's a common held belief that the beefier brands of metahumanity have nerves of steel, as every ork and his grandmother oft attest. Those are the sorts of people lucky enough to have never met a Kamikaze huffing gun berserker. She'd been shot twice before the ork managed to interrupt her, having been alternating between beating the fresh corpse with a communal microwave and tracing the freshly fired barrels of her pistols across her body. Between the drugs and the wards that kept her from getting sliced up during the dynamic entry the trog might as well have been packing a derringer. 
 
A salvo of fourteen replies stitched up the front of his uniform as Kali fired her two-fisted cavaliers dry, and with some nimble reloading repeated herself. Outgunned, outmanned and having put a narrow corridor between herself and the remaining seven gunmen there was only on thing on her mind as she put a boot to the doors behind her.  
 
[color=f6989d]"Any of you trogs so much as look my way for' I choke down this sub and I'm geeking you double!"[/color]