[b][color=00a651]Fuka Nakano[/color][/b]

The snap-fizzle of the lights turning on was like the chorus of trumpets at Doomsday, signalling the arrival of heavenly light to blind the sinners. The gunmen holed up in the building had adjusted to fighting in the dark, acclimated themselves to the sporadic burst of muzzle flash against the night sky. A constant burning beam was enough to throw them off their game, Fuka moving to take advantage of their temporary weakness. One man with an AK variant had thrown up his arms to shield his face, leaving her the opportunity to tuck a bullet into his chest. 

Switch targets came naturally, the crosshairs drifting to the next victim in line. She saw a thin man with a submachine gun go down in a burst of lead, just as Myk was cut down off to her side. 

[color=00a651]"Shit!"[/color] 

The fight was over now, Fuka able to crouch by the kid's side and begin emergency aid. Her headset crackled to life and she spared a blood-soaked finger to tap it. 

[color=00a651]"All hostiles outside dead or wounded, but we're down a man. Spark took fire; he's down."[/color] 

------

[color=6ecff6][b]Ximena Huang[/b][/color]

Well, tonight had been something! It had been a long time since she had been engaged in an out-and-out gun battle, and she had assumed she had left that life behind in Mexico. Evidently not.

Ximena's body was still in fight or flight, running on automatic like a wind-up toy that had been let loose. Adrenaline was still coursing through her, tempered by the cognac and coke she had managed to sneak in before the briefing. Her hands were twitching, the smell of gunpowder clung to her like a damp blanket, and she could have sworn that the barrel of her SAW was still warm propped up against her lap. Was there going to be another attack? Did she have enough ammo? Was some terrorist about to throw the door open and toss in a pipe bomb? Who knew? Maybe the security forces were in on it and Cobalt was about be rounded up and shot by local cops.

The thought made her blanche, her stomach twisting itself in knots even as she willfully, [i]gleefully[/i], ran through all the worst case scenarios.

She lived for this shit. On land or in the air, the mixed fear and excitement of combat followed by the simple, violent joy of victory fueled her. This outfit, battered and exhausted and entirely compromised as it was, was where she belonged. 

[color=6ecff6][i]The Next Morning[/i][/color]

She had slept maybe 3 hours, the energy of the battle exhausted but replaced by pure caffeine. She hated energy drinks but found them tolerable when washed down with strong coffee. A crash would hit eventually, but she could stave it off with more as required. 

She came strolling into the operations room as casual as could be, her eyes just visible through the designer shades she had been allowed to wear. They were bright pink that day and narrowed into an inquisitive glare to match the catlike grin she wore habitually. 

[color=6ecff6]"Goooood morning, bossman."[/color] she near-purred, practically drawling the words in her Los Angeles accent. [color=6ecff6]"I didn't get a chance to say hi yesterday, figured I would see how you're holding up."[/color] 

[@Rhona W]