[u]Remmy[/u] 

Remmy liked the situation less and less by the moment. 

It was going to be a shit storm from the look of it and that seemed to be the story of his life, every god damn time. He did choose this after all but didn’t mean he had to like the result. His fingers seemed to wring the Winchester from the building anxiety, bright blue eyes narrowed over the Blackhawk lower bit by bit nearby. The black form of the chopper lighted upon the nearest open spot, a deafening roar from the propellers whipping the surrounding air as out pops seven. Seven tall, rough soldiers dressed in identical vests, filled with pockets, and almost uniform in appearance unlike the motley crew they had cornered. Each sported a trained guns over them and one over the poor miscreants in back, the gloved fingers rested upon their triggers while time ticked by. By this time, Remmy had realized Simon’s body was gone. Where the hell the man went or how it was possibly he could only guess but he sincerely hoped it was safer than this cluster fuck situation. 
 
Reminded of this, Cajun’s breath seemed to still in his throat leaving him breathless. The endless pounding within his ears seemed to overwhelm the chopper’s vibrations, fast and powerful, unable to outdo his little racing muscle’s efforts. For the moment, Remmy tried to look them into the eyes. Only to be met with by a cold, black cover across their eyes and steel nervous to shoot first. They were trained and organized. This made things worse Remmy didn’t like to admit and hoped against running into. 

When the slaver glanced over to Remmy, the Cajun’s eyes met his and pleaded with the man not to something stupid. Yet there was fear. A familiar thing in Apolcalytica seeped from the man, the type Remmy encountered many times before. Now the Slaver’s common sense was more in tune with a corner animal then any human and for that reason, the same decision a trapped rat bites the larger cat, the man opened fire. So much for his luck, Remmy thought bitterly as his feet rushed into motion. He was the one closest to the truck front and promptly ducked around it. Bullets ricocheted once, twice and three times off the hood. Each one made a loud ping, right beside Remmy in the process causing him to pick up the pace. Boots scrambled, kicked up dirt in his haste, when Cajun’s back pressed firmly against his makeshift barricade.

“Shit!” The Cajun cursed under his breath. 

His head and body buzzed with adrenaline, face turned to spot the taller man jerked back and hide behind a rock. White flashed from his gun barrel towards the uniformed troops. No rapid, sloppy shots but pure purely trained pot shots. It seemed the man had been military or had some formal training the way Remmy notice he kept tight with the weapon. 

Ping! Ping! Ping! 

Remmy’s head peered up only to immediately duck farther down, his fingers tighten about the Winchester. Then the sound of darting feet caused his ears, fast and panicked. Again he peered out around the truck this time to see one of the Slavers rabbiting. The short, fat man scrambled across the shooter’s sight line like a damn fool. Quickly he pulled his gun to the side then popped off a few shots, a faint hope to buy the man some time. Yeah he was a Slaver but Remmy wasn’t a killer. That’s God’s job to sort them out when they met him, be them good, bad, or ugly. 

Twin burst of blood declared direct hits and the man tumbled into the dirt, his painful yells screamed when Remmy been caught reloading. His finger worked fast and precise, never fumbled once. It didn’t matter. In a pitiful way, the man’s hand went for his gun and shot off one round. The bullet clipped the shoulder of a man just after they put the miserable ass down. A bullet to the head, his figure slumped over and went still. The Cajun’s reload ended while he heard gun fire again. His ears seemed to deafen by the gun fight, mainly because he was on the losing end, before he kneeled in on one knee. Again he popped up and returned fire once. His aim short and not aimed to kill. Merely to maim or discourage return fire, Remmy didn’t aim to give these home boys a reason to flat out kill him. At least one right away. He worked like a machine, up then down, up then down in rapid procession with each return fire. The taller slaver seemed to hold his own as well until Remmy saw the red spread from the man’s leg, staining the shirt and pants in his crouched position. It seemed during his move to better cover, he took a shot. Now he was slowly bleeding to death. 

Remmy’s eyes peered over and took a chance. His feet kicked out from the truck’s cover, darted right ahead in hopes to make. Fires scattered dirt in his wake while the Cajun’s feet moved faster, his boot taken long strides and ate away the distance. Not fast enough it seemed. Pain erupted in Remmy’s head as his leg crumbled underneath him, the last bit fell into a sloppy scramble just another round buried itself right into his side! Remmy swerved around and pushed his body smaller, fitted against the hard surface of the rock. His lungs seemed unable to breath, his chest seized up thanks to the myriads fire spread from his wounds. 

“Brah, I should shoot ya here and now for bein’ stupid!” The Cajun hissed through gritted teeth. Bite the pain back, Remmy forced his mind to tend to his injuries. First the leg one since it was easier to examine. He hunched over, fought not to instinctively curl into a painful ball. His hands gripped the jeans around the thigh, a loud rip when he jerked them apart and examined the wound. It had fortunately gone through the thick muscle and straight out. That meant it would heal without the added damage from his rooting around for the bullet or risk of infection.

Now for his side, his figure shifted to lean on his elbow. His eyes looked at the bloody mess the bullet had caused, mostly result from the seepage rather than actual damage. Again the sound of ripping clothes reached Remmy’s ears when the shirt came next. Fuck…Remmy cursed, his face looked away and settled back. 

“Shut the fuck up and just sh-“The man never finished. His words cut off when a bullet clipped the rock edge, a fresh wave of fire exploded. Instantly he ducked down, his hand undid the clip. Remmy’s eyes dipped to see the man only had a few shots left: 3 to be exact.

Remmy just chuckled for a moment. The man’s scowl looked at him yet it didn’t stop the Bayou boy’s amusement at the situation. In his head, it couldn’t get any worse. Sadly, it seemed the man didn’t share his thoughts as the Slaver leaned towards the rock edge, his legs coiled and ready. This got Remmy’s attention and his eyebrow raised in question, slightly wondered if the man aimed to go for the ammo reserves in the truck’s back seat. It might’ve been a short distance yet most the guns were likely train on the gap between, aimed to kill at the first man to try. He, himself, got lucky just to be shot one. 

Before Remmy could stop him, the man shot forward towards the truck and was stopped just short. Six or seven shot rang out, the Slaver’s body hit in several spots that sent him wheeling sideways. The man didn’t rise. His body relaxed between waves of pain and eyes closed to the silence. When he heard Simon’s voice during the conversation, Remmy let a smirk cross his lips. He couldn’t help comment under his breath, “Clever bastard. I told you would want to live for her.” 

Bracing himself for his role, Remmy’s hand quickly emptied his gun and set to the side. His hand skirted along the rock face to aid his trip onto his feet. Pain once more rippled through his body and set his body on fire, his leg threatened to crumble only to be forced to stay. His shirt torn at the side, covered in grime, and bloodied beyond identification, Remmy was a hellish sight to see. That much he was sure. The puzzle pieces seemed to slightly fit together now after he heard Simon bullshit his way, impressively, from being shot on sight. How long that luck would last would remain to be seen. If asked, Remmy had a pretty good idea how to reply for his lack of military clothing and out here, even shoot. Though, like with a few of his lies, it was likely farfetched a bit. Currently being shot was a reasonable excuse for not properly addressing Simon within the moment or really speaking at that moment.