Flared nostrils. Heavy breathing. D-d-d-dempsey’s back pressed tight against the cool window as the door opened, exposing a view of the rod-cutting machine frozen in mid-movement. Just like a rod-cutting machine, Dempsey was also frozen. Waiting. On standby, a sniper rifle with a finger on the trigger. Just a weapon, just a product, just a function. Beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his face like a windowpane in humid weather. In the darkness, wires sparking high above them, the sniper had only his scope to see by, nightvision in gray-green hues at the end of a crosshair tunnel. [i]Too risky. Can’t just look through the scope. Gotta be careful. Gotta be careful![/i] At least they could hear the scraping. Even in the dark, Dempsey would rather try to see it coming with his own eyes. He had rabbit eyes. Hunted eyes. 

The shriek of metal on cement floor was second to Dempsey’s shriek as the abomination attacked, springing clumsily towards them. The metal flashing from its forearm was a blessing in disguise, a point his eyes could focus on. Ambrosine’s words caught up to him in a delayed rush.  [b]“Get your body back to base?! Whaddaya mean? GET DOWN!”[/b] the redhead squawked, his weapon bearing around on reflex like an extension of his own arm. He was too focused on pink limbs and the sheen of skin and that flashing blade, no face, just [i]get back[/i]—

Dempsey’s body was curiously still as he pulled the trigger and felt the impact from his shoulder as he fired. The rifle was loaded with the AP rounds Smoker had requested—their plan had been to go for its head, but at this sort of melee range he just wanted to blast it back. Back, back! His hair rose another half inch on end as the stress built within him. [b]“E-e-e-e-e—“[/b] his stammer hit the radio comms like machine gun fire before the rain of syllables finally hit home: [b][i]“Engaging hostile!”[/i][/b]

He scurried from the window, long-range rifle swinging back up over his left shoulder in its modified holster. [b]“D-does [i]not[/i] match description! Knife-hand-hook-man-no-face!”[/b] What. What. Hopefully he’d blasted it back, but what then?! Surely that wouldn’t stop it for long, not when he hadn’t had time to aim for vital points! Pistols appeared in the stringy man’s hands like a close-up magic trick as he scuttled for the door. [i]Where’s my lightsticks?![/i] Though they didn’t have the range of a real flare gun, shooting one of his tinkered flares might be enough to shed some light on the ground floor. [b]“Backbackback!”[/b] He jammed one of the modified cartridges in, aimed high, and fired the flare.