Another concussive blast barrelled into the wall Beth hid behind. The shockwave sent even her into the street, her concentration hampered by the endless tirade of bullets and noise. Her body flickered in and out of tangibility as she rolled across the road. Bullets coursed right through her, each one starting a ripple of burns through her form. Albeit the only physical pain she was ever likely to feel again, the combination pissed her off.

Enough, apparently, to set some things in motion. One of those things happened to be the nearest dumpster. Beth tossed the oversized trash can towards the origin of the bullets and used the momentary lapse in their barrage to pin her sights on the daycare center. Her spiritual spidey sense couldn't get a lock on anything, but she saw the rest of their merry band taking up arms. As soon as Flint erected a solid dirt shield, Beth darted behind it.

She heard someone shouting and it took her a second to give the voice a name—Parry’s telltale tone clued her in. She perked up at the sound of her name.

“Making a mess is what I'm good for,” she called back to him and took off.

Beth took a shortcut through—literally, [i]through[/i]—the buildings on the right side of the street and came around to the back of the shooters. She didn't bother to count them. What was the point? Numbers had no effect on the already-dead. She threw herself into the body of the closest assailant.

Whoever this was, they were not [i]wholly[/i] human. Mortal, perhaps, except it felt like they'd been tampered with. They fought the possession with a strength unfamiliar to most mortals, and dropped their semi-automatic in the process, but Beth's fifteen years of experience won out. The internal struggle only fuelled her abilities. She snatched up the gun and returned fire.