[center][img]http://www.snazzyspace.com/banner-creator/banners/1489953268.png[/img]
[@Indy Cooper]

Nick was surprised by the flash of brilliant red light that cast a shadow over his newsstand, but he took the chance regardless. As the Hounds were blinded by the light, Nick leaped forward from his cover, running across the street, and firing at three Hounds, who, blinded by the light, accidentally stuck their heads out of cover. Three short bursts, three more splatters of blood on a building, three more bodies on the pavement.

Taking cover in an alley between two buildings, stepping over the bodies of a Hounds squad that he killed, Nick tried to catch another group from behind, but he hit the back of a helmet, and the Hound let out a shout, diving to the ground and rolling behind the van's engine. The rest of the insurgents followed suit, taking cover behind the van's engine block and driver side. 

Nick was sure he had gotten everyone behind him, but he saw something out of the corner of his eye. A hound, covered in his friends' blood, pale face visible from when he had ripped off his mask. And he was mounted on the machine gun in one of the vans. 

Shit.

Nick flung himself backwards as the kid opened fire, his leg exploding in pain as a bullet caught him. Crashing against trash cans, and rolling under the hail of bullets, Nick hid there under the trash cans, until the kid stopped firing, to try and see if he had got Nick. Nick rewarded his hesitation with a bullet through the throat, making him cough up blood and slump over the LMG. 

Crawling further back in the alleyway, Nick took cover behind a dumpster, and took a look at his left leg. He was missing a good chunk of flesh, but it shouldn't keep him from moving. It would just cause him excruciating pain every time he set weight on it or moved. He'd just have to tough it out, he had been hurt worse. 

Reloading, swapping out the depleted mag for a full one, keeping the empty one in his pocket, Nick made sure that his holstered handguns weren't strapped, and stood up, sucking in air as he hissed in pain. Quickly moving to the corner, he peeked out, and saw the Hounds behind the van moving forward out of cover. They were about halfway to the alley, so Nick ran out, charging them while firing indiscriminately, hoping to get them to flinch and scatter. For the most part, it worked, except for one hard-bitten man, who kept firing at Nick, but he had already reached the first Hound, and punching his gun away, pressed his submachine gun to his chin, and fired upwards. Blood splattered over his face, and the Hound slumped, dropping like a puppet with cut strings. Holding his body up as a meatshield, Nick ran forward, bullets pounding into the corpse, and fired at the remaining Hounds that were out of cover. As they fell, November turned his gun on the stone-faced man, but his muzzle pointed at air.

Dropping the now-perforated corpse, Nick took cover around the back of the van, and looked around, to try and find him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Nick frowned. That wouldn't do at all. That one looked like one of the more competent Hounds. Having him running around would be bad for his health. He needed to find him, and put him down. 
[/center]