Rachel had hardly finished filling the fifth syringe before something metal landed at her feet. It was dark inside, but the general shape flashed into her consciousness. A grenade!

She dropped the syringe and barely managed to dive for cover before it went off. [s]Smoke billowed around her, her ears rang and she couldn't [i]see[/i][/s] Either the dealers knew she was here or some other masked guy had gotten the same idea as her. She hoped it was the latter: taking out two guards who were already slightly sleepy was one thing. Facing off against six or seven men was another. 

"...enough killing without your help, don't you?"

Rachel stood, dusting herself off absently. The man in front of her was tall, built like a linebacker. He carried a riot shield and more tools than she'd ever used in three years. Riot? She'd heard the rumours. A vigilante, like her. She'd talk to him. 

"They deserve it," she said. Clipped, precise tones; the way she remembered her English teacher's voice. "Acceptable targets, yes? Only the junkies will miss them. Gambetti will just be annoyed."