The Supers on site were being pressed as the Boskonians were trying to focus fire on civilians and any Fen craft still docked. Coordination efforts had "street level capes" working non-combatant evacuation while "armor jockeys" ran interference. Unfortunately, the weapons they were up against were a little heavier than usual and armor that had shrugged off skirmishes and small attacks were being sorely tried by large-caliber rifles.
--Supers snippetty-things, foo number indeterminate --
Mister Bessemer's football-themed armor was trailing coolant vapor and one of his rivet guns was offline as he tailed a Boskonian craft based on a small Toyota pickup that seemed to have an anti-aircraft gun mounted in the bed. From radio reports, it had already taken several FEZigs and a squad of Iron Man copies out of action. One of his own rivets had taken out one of the three-man crew in the bed, reducing the rate at which the thing could reload.
Meanwhile, on the ground, Sue Richardson was beginning to worry. The force field generator clipped to her belt was beginning to overheat. It was already working overtime to provide cover for herself and the seven fenkinder under her care. The bubble had shifted from its normal purple down the spectrum to orange as the incoming fire was overtaxing it. Another burst shifted it into an angry red.
Sue swallowed dryly and prepared to meet her maker when a red-and-blue streak passed between her group and the raiders. The look on their faces was comical as they realized they'd been disarmed.
"Looking for these, boys?" a slightly-accented voice asked. A blonde wearing a Supergirl costume stepped forward, assault rifle in her hands. Sue boggled as the woman twisted it into a pretzel. "I'm thinking that your fight's over."
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''
-- James Nicoll
--Supers snippetty-things, foo number indeterminate --
Mister Bessemer's football-themed armor was trailing coolant vapor and one of his rivet guns was offline as he tailed a Boskonian craft based on a small Toyota pickup that seemed to have an anti-aircraft gun mounted in the bed. From radio reports, it had already taken several FEZigs and a squad of Iron Man copies out of action. One of his own rivets had taken out one of the three-man crew in the bed, reducing the rate at which the thing could reload.
Meanwhile, on the ground, Sue Richardson was beginning to worry. The force field generator clipped to her belt was beginning to overheat. It was already working overtime to provide cover for herself and the seven fenkinder under her care. The bubble had shifted from its normal purple down the spectrum to orange as the incoming fire was overtaxing it. Another burst shifted it into an angry red.
Sue swallowed dryly and prepared to meet her maker when a red-and-blue streak passed between her group and the raiders. The look on their faces was comical as they realized they'd been disarmed.
"Looking for these, boys?" a slightly-accented voice asked. A blonde wearing a Supergirl costume stepped forward, assault rifle in her hands. Sue boggled as the woman twisted it into a pretzel. "I'm thinking that your fight's over."
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''
-- James Nicoll