It's a Disaster 4/4
I barely process the second between the goon to my left whipping out his gun and my hand snapping over his wrist. I wrench it; the gun clatters to the ground as he snarls and swipes at me. It goes wild; I dodge, and before he can manage a more focused attack I yank him forward and slam my knee into his groin. He lets out a whuff of air and hunches over. My fingers dig into the stiff bristles of his hair and drive his skull onto my kneecap. Down he goes.
I catch a flicker of movement and back-step in time to catch knuckles in my hair instead of on my jaw. This guy's faster; he follows up the missed blow with an elbow aimed at my throat, which I barely deflect before he throws a left cross that catches me in the ribs. I stumble. He closes the gap and cuffs me in the jaw so hard I feel a tooth crack.
This isn't practice, Ames. These people are trying to kill you.
His fist swings again. I dodge it, then lock my arms around his and jerk his arm down until he screams, then further until I hear the muffled snap of bone. He howls and throws me back. He must be reaching for his gun now, but before he's close Brody brings his fist down on the guy's head like a hammer. I finish him off with a leg sweep, then dip to retrieve his fallen crony's gun from the floor.
"You okay?" Brody asks. It's hard to hear him over the shots winging through the air. Waterson's goons and the gang who kidnapped us are each trying their damndest to obliterate the other.
"Fine," is what I start to say, but what comes out is "Brody!"
Because the man behind him has broken away from the pack to aim a pistol at Brody's head. A horrified moan escapes my mouth; there's nothing I can do.
Three shots, and the guy grips his side and tips like an old tree. I look in the direction they came from, and just as I'd suspected, there's Chance grinning at me from the center of his own melee. I'm so happy I could kiss him, even if that has gotten me into trouble recently.
"Ames!" Brody points over my shoulder; one of the larger pieces of machinery is there, and beyond it the dark hole of another door. I get what he's after, but I can't leave. Not with Chance still here.
"Go," I say.
"Come on!" He grabs for my hand to lead me out.
I swat him away. "No! Go, you'll get your ass kicked out here."
"And you won't?"
I don't dignify that with an answer. A bullet zings through the space between us and ricochets off the old machine. We both duck; Brody looks at me, scowling. I shake my head.
Keeping his head down, Brody breaks away from the shrinking fight to dive behind the machine.
Chance has taken out four guys to my two, and the three guys left seem more interested in not getting shot by Ameilio's crew than they do with fighting us. Waterson's nowhere in sight. Neither is his daughter. Another shot breezes past me, and I realize that it's Dough Boy who's aiming at me. I return fire, pop pop, and while one shot hits the cement the other hits his knee. He falls, wailing.
"Ames!" It's Chance. He flags me in the same direction Brody's just gone. That's all the invitation I need. I sprint the few yards to the machine half-crouched; when I duck behind it a muted flash of pain goes off in my hipbone; I realize I must have slammed it on the corner of the machine as I dove.
"You okay?" Brody asks.
"Yeah, fine." I say.
Chance comes around the corner and practically skids to a halt next to us.
"Hey. You guys all right?"
Brody nods stiffly. I just grin. I can feel tears welling in my eyes, and I blink them away.
"Thanks for coming," I say, when I'm feeling a little more composed.
Chance shakes his head, then smiles. "If you keep this up, Ilsa'll make me start charging you."
"Hey! This--" I gesture to wildly to include the whole room. "--was not my fault. I'm supposed to be halfway to Cali right now!"
"You've got to admit, this was more fun."
"Not that sure that's the word I'd choose," I mutter as I start to massage my hip. Pain knocks me so hard I feel breathless; I jerk my hand away, then stare at it wide-eyed.
"What happened?" Brody and Chance ask at the same time, but at the sight of my hand Chance brushes Brody aside to lean over my thigh.
"Lift your skirt," Chance says. If I were any less stunned I could wring a week's worth of comedy from that statement. Instead, I nod and mutely shrug my skirt up to reveal the the bright blood the fabric's smeared over my skin like a finger painting.
"Shit," Brody says.
Now that I've seen the wound, I can feel the pain battling with adrenaline for dominance. It's losing, but I can't say it'll stay down for long.
I can deal with this, I think, even though I'm pretty sure I'm about to start hyperventilating. Chance must have sensed this, because he claps a hand on my shoulder and looks me right in the eyes.
"Breathe, Ames." he says. He mimes deep breathes, and I mimic the motions until my lungs no longer feel like they're running a marathon.
"She's been shot," Chance continues. Brody looks at him like he's crazy. I tap my ear; he mouths a brief "Oh."
"Hip. Looks like--" he leans down. "Through and through. Yeah. Send them in now."
Chance whisks off his suit to reveal more casual wear beneath-- the kind one might wear to a coming-of-age yacht party, for example. He presses his suit jacket to my hip, and I don't have time to question the rest of his impromptu strip show, because about a second later there's an explosion of movement and more cops than I've ever seen in my life come pouring through the door in front of me. Judging by the swearing, Ameilio's group gets cut off by some as well.
I see Taylor stalking towards me at the front line of the cops who entered from our door. My hand twitches towards the gun that now lies abandoned at my side, but Chance stills it.
"Relax," says Taylor. "I'm a real undercover."
He holds out his badge. Well, if you want to be official about it sure, I think. But who needs credentials when you've got bullshit?
"EMS will be here as soon as we've secured the area," he tells Chance. Then, to me, "Don't worry ma'am. You'll be fine."
It's a comforting lie, and I'm suddenly too tired to argue it. Brody scoots over so that I can lean against his chest. He rubs my shoulder gently as he speaks.
"You okay, Uno?"
"Mhm," I say, "Besides the whole 'hip made of fire' thing."
"Are you passing out?" Chance asks sharply. I shake my head.
"No," I say. "I'm just tired."
I'm exhausted, actually, now that the adrenaline's worn off and my brain's had time to realize it's gone twenty-four-plus hours without sleep. I close my eyes. Gradually, the confusion around us fades to a monotone buzz. In a few minutes I'm sure someone will be shaking me awake again to ask me a bunch of questions before they brace me up for the ride to the hospital. In the meantime, though...
---------------------
A/N: And now some background information for RP purposes:
Waterson screwed the Green Street Crew by selling them bad drugs. The gang finds out, which leads to the events of the story. After Ames texts Chance, the gang does some research on Waterson and discovers that he's got quite the sordid past-- so sordid, in fact, that the police have been conducting an undercover investigation of him for a while.
Since Chance isn't keen on helping either Waterson or the Gang get away with their activities, he (and Winston, and Guerrero) concoct a plan that will let them rescue Ames and Waterson's daughter. It was going swimmingly, but Ames' "I'm with the feds" lie ends up throwing a wrench into things. But it still works out because Chance & Co. are fantastic like that. Waterson, who tried to flee during the melee, was intercepted by the cops waiting outside. Taylor took Kimber daughter outside to safety as well.
This is my very rough idea of the behind-the-scenes workings of this story. Feel free to add/change details, as Ames' knowledge of Chance & Co.'s activities will be limited to the brief updates she was texted anyway.
Ames will now be whisked to the hospital, enter surgery, and overnight in a room. The shot took out some bone from her hip (her illiac crest, to be precise), but it was not enough to be permanently debilitating. She'll be looking at 8 weeks total recovery, the first week of which will be spent on crutches, and some scarring afterward.
I catch a flicker of movement and back-step in time to catch knuckles in my hair instead of on my jaw. This guy's faster; he follows up the missed blow with an elbow aimed at my throat, which I barely deflect before he throws a left cross that catches me in the ribs. I stumble. He closes the gap and cuffs me in the jaw so hard I feel a tooth crack.
This isn't practice, Ames. These people are trying to kill you.
His fist swings again. I dodge it, then lock my arms around his and jerk his arm down until he screams, then further until I hear the muffled snap of bone. He howls and throws me back. He must be reaching for his gun now, but before he's close Brody brings his fist down on the guy's head like a hammer. I finish him off with a leg sweep, then dip to retrieve his fallen crony's gun from the floor.
"You okay?" Brody asks. It's hard to hear him over the shots winging through the air. Waterson's goons and the gang who kidnapped us are each trying their damndest to obliterate the other.
"Fine," is what I start to say, but what comes out is "Brody!"
Because the man behind him has broken away from the pack to aim a pistol at Brody's head. A horrified moan escapes my mouth; there's nothing I can do.
Three shots, and the guy grips his side and tips like an old tree. I look in the direction they came from, and just as I'd suspected, there's Chance grinning at me from the center of his own melee. I'm so happy I could kiss him, even if that has gotten me into trouble recently.
"Ames!" Brody points over my shoulder; one of the larger pieces of machinery is there, and beyond it the dark hole of another door. I get what he's after, but I can't leave. Not with Chance still here.
"Go," I say.
"Come on!" He grabs for my hand to lead me out.
I swat him away. "No! Go, you'll get your ass kicked out here."
"And you won't?"
I don't dignify that with an answer. A bullet zings through the space between us and ricochets off the old machine. We both duck; Brody looks at me, scowling. I shake my head.
Keeping his head down, Brody breaks away from the shrinking fight to dive behind the machine.
Chance has taken out four guys to my two, and the three guys left seem more interested in not getting shot by Ameilio's crew than they do with fighting us. Waterson's nowhere in sight. Neither is his daughter. Another shot breezes past me, and I realize that it's Dough Boy who's aiming at me. I return fire, pop pop, and while one shot hits the cement the other hits his knee. He falls, wailing.
"Ames!" It's Chance. He flags me in the same direction Brody's just gone. That's all the invitation I need. I sprint the few yards to the machine half-crouched; when I duck behind it a muted flash of pain goes off in my hipbone; I realize I must have slammed it on the corner of the machine as I dove.
"You okay?" Brody asks.
"Yeah, fine." I say.
Chance comes around the corner and practically skids to a halt next to us.
"Hey. You guys all right?"
Brody nods stiffly. I just grin. I can feel tears welling in my eyes, and I blink them away.
"Thanks for coming," I say, when I'm feeling a little more composed.
Chance shakes his head, then smiles. "If you keep this up, Ilsa'll make me start charging you."
"Hey! This--" I gesture to wildly to include the whole room. "--was not my fault. I'm supposed to be halfway to Cali right now!"
"You've got to admit, this was more fun."
"Not that sure that's the word I'd choose," I mutter as I start to massage my hip. Pain knocks me so hard I feel breathless; I jerk my hand away, then stare at it wide-eyed.
"What happened?" Brody and Chance ask at the same time, but at the sight of my hand Chance brushes Brody aside to lean over my thigh.
"Lift your skirt," Chance says. If I were any less stunned I could wring a week's worth of comedy from that statement. Instead, I nod and mutely shrug my skirt up to reveal the the bright blood the fabric's smeared over my skin like a finger painting.
"Shit," Brody says.
Now that I've seen the wound, I can feel the pain battling with adrenaline for dominance. It's losing, but I can't say it'll stay down for long.
I can deal with this, I think, even though I'm pretty sure I'm about to start hyperventilating. Chance must have sensed this, because he claps a hand on my shoulder and looks me right in the eyes.
"Breathe, Ames." he says. He mimes deep breathes, and I mimic the motions until my lungs no longer feel like they're running a marathon.
"She's been shot," Chance continues. Brody looks at him like he's crazy. I tap my ear; he mouths a brief "Oh."
"Hip. Looks like--" he leans down. "Through and through. Yeah. Send them in now."
Chance whisks off his suit to reveal more casual wear beneath-- the kind one might wear to a coming-of-age yacht party, for example. He presses his suit jacket to my hip, and I don't have time to question the rest of his impromptu strip show, because about a second later there's an explosion of movement and more cops than I've ever seen in my life come pouring through the door in front of me. Judging by the swearing, Ameilio's group gets cut off by some as well.
I see Taylor stalking towards me at the front line of the cops who entered from our door. My hand twitches towards the gun that now lies abandoned at my side, but Chance stills it.
"Relax," says Taylor. "I'm a real undercover."
He holds out his badge. Well, if you want to be official about it sure, I think. But who needs credentials when you've got bullshit?
"EMS will be here as soon as we've secured the area," he tells Chance. Then, to me, "Don't worry ma'am. You'll be fine."
It's a comforting lie, and I'm suddenly too tired to argue it. Brody scoots over so that I can lean against his chest. He rubs my shoulder gently as he speaks.
"You okay, Uno?"
"Mhm," I say, "Besides the whole 'hip made of fire' thing."
"Are you passing out?" Chance asks sharply. I shake my head.
"No," I say. "I'm just tired."
I'm exhausted, actually, now that the adrenaline's worn off and my brain's had time to realize it's gone twenty-four-plus hours without sleep. I close my eyes. Gradually, the confusion around us fades to a monotone buzz. In a few minutes I'm sure someone will be shaking me awake again to ask me a bunch of questions before they brace me up for the ride to the hospital. In the meantime, though...
---------------------
A/N: And now some background information for RP purposes:
Waterson screwed the Green Street Crew by selling them bad drugs. The gang finds out, which leads to the events of the story. After Ames texts Chance, the gang does some research on Waterson and discovers that he's got quite the sordid past-- so sordid, in fact, that the police have been conducting an undercover investigation of him for a while.
Since Chance isn't keen on helping either Waterson or the Gang get away with their activities, he (and Winston, and Guerrero) concoct a plan that will let them rescue Ames and Waterson's daughter. It was going swimmingly, but Ames' "I'm with the feds" lie ends up throwing a wrench into things. But it still works out because Chance & Co. are fantastic like that. Waterson, who tried to flee during the melee, was intercepted by the cops waiting outside. Taylor took Kimber daughter outside to safety as well.
This is my very rough idea of the behind-the-scenes workings of this story. Feel free to add/change details, as Ames' knowledge of Chance & Co.'s activities will be limited to the brief updates she was texted anyway.
Ames will now be whisked to the hospital, enter surgery, and overnight in a room. The shot took out some bone from her hip (her illiac crest, to be precise), but it was not enough to be permanently debilitating. She'll be looking at 8 weeks total recovery, the first week of which will be spent on crutches, and some scarring afterward.