As the fight raged around her, Morgan continued to intently study the terminal on the massive tank, even as time continued to count down. It had to be fairly simple, right? If Raiders (not known for being Ivy League graduates) were expected to use something like this in the heat of battle, it would have to be. 

The interface wasn't terribly intuitive, though. Old-fashioned and clunky, it was clearly cobbled together from some outdated tech. 80s stuff, really. It took her a few moments of fiddling to reach what she wanted.

SUSPEND TIMER? YES/ NO

"Hell yes I want to suspend the timer," Morgan said triumphantly, unheard and unnoticed amid the general chaos. She punched at a few more keys. 

ACCESS DENIED

"Damn."

FINGERPRINT AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED

"Damn!"

Maybe this would be a good time to just cut her losses and fly out of here. Morgan wasn't motivated by altruism or heroism, really, just more a feeling that someone had to do something. She was tempted to just extend her wings, even beginning to flex the muscles required to extend them from her back.

But then serendipity reared its head.

The horrific, towering demon abruptly appeared in the midst of the crowd, making an unusual day even stranger. Long story short, the end result was one of the Raiders backpedaling in abject terror, firing clearly ineffective rifle rounds at the abomination.

Right towards Morgan.

"You just might do," she mused, reaching into her purse and closing her hand on the familiar weight of the telescoping baton. Sure, it was a bit of an old-fashioned weapon, but it did the trick nicely. She knew that physically attacking someone was too obvious even for her natural camouflage to disguise, so she had to make this decisive. 

With a practiced flick of the wrist, she deployed the baton, and then went to work. Two quick strikes- wrist and elbow, forcing the man to drop his weapon. A third to the temple, just behind his gas mask, and a fourth again just to be sure. The Raider went limp, crumbling like empty clothing. Morgan knew that now she was visible and had to act quickly. She quickly tore the mask from the man, fitted it over her own face- both to protect her identity and for protection should the gas be released despite her efforts.

Then she grabbed the man's limp hand and pressed a thumb up against the terminal, hoping he would have sufficient access to curb this madness.