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[center][h2]The Outback Camp[/h2]

[h3]10:46AM[/h3][/center]

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As everything fell into place and the bandits broke earth with their shovels - right next to the campfire, no less - an unspoken tension in the party finally broke and as Brooks gave the nod, Matthew raised his hand to focus on the embers below. Fog as thick as a forest began to flow from the embers of the firepit, slowly at first but steadily growing to a rapid and unnatural billow, fanning itself out and covering a gradually growing area of the camp.

After just a moment the bandits noticed it and froze in place. The would-be ambushers froze too, the tension building as it seemed more and more like their prey would see through the plan, realise what was going on, and rush for their weapons any moment now…

“Rodney, you [i]fuckin [b]mug[/b]![/i] What the [i]fuck[/i] did I tell you?” One of them bellowed, turning to face their colleague - who dropped his shovel in shock.

“I- I- what?”

“It doesn’t [i]fuckin matter[/i] how much you use, it is [i]funda-fucking-mentally impossible to hotbox the fuckin outback, you stupid goddamn motherfucking degenerate![/i]” The smaller man continued, before throwing his still full can of beer at the other guy, who yelped almost exactly like a dog and failed tragically to dodge it, landing flat on his ass after it hit him in the head.

After breathing a sigh of relief, the shooters in the group retook their aim, and waited just a moment more for the fog to reach its critical point - the point at which the enemy was [i]almost[/i] engulfed by it, but still visible enough to be shot at, so that in the very next moment they would be unable to react and return fire if they survived.

The smaller of the pair that were screaming at eachother took a step towards the other man, who had more or less fallen into the mist and was no longer visible, and then-

The staccato chorus of gunfire tore through the fog like knives through cloth, and the aggressor’s head jerked backwards violently as his body was perforated, and he spasmed reflexively away from wherever it was he thought the pain was coming from, before collapsing limply to the ground in the same movement.

Two others were hit in the opening salvo, one of them simply dropping dead as their head was abruptly opened, the other giving a low, guttural cry as she was hit in the stomach and doubled over instantly. The final man had vanished into the fog and couldn’t be seen.

It was over in less than half a minute. As the gunfire died down and the air was filled instead by the plastic-metal clacks of weapons being handled and reloaded, the camp itself fell deathly silent, and the fog started to lift even quicker than it’d come, pulling away from the bodies like a sheet being pulled back in a morgue. One of them was still moving, but not much - and it was rapidly fading, slipping away as quickly as the great stain on her stomach grew, with all the certainty of an absolutely mortal wound. 

After a moment of pause, a silhouette emerged at a sprint from the fading remnants of the fog - the man who’d disappeared into it to begin with - and headed, panting like a terrified dog, towards Ellen. He was a big man, lanky and inelegant as he ran, hair blonde but streaked with blood, eyes wild; and he held one arm with the other as he ran, blood oozing between his fingers. When he locked eyes with Ellen, his face twisted into a confused complex of rage, fear, and hesitation, and he let go of his wounded arm to form a fist with his one functional hand.

“No!” He screamed at her as he charged, voice rich with agony and not knowing what else to say, straight at her.

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