Alexis stared at the lockout screen for a few moments, unwilling to believe what had just happened, feeling the tension in her guts draw to an almost unbearable level.
Shit, she thought.
Well, there went the plan, all to hell. Her plan to get out of here alive, and unscathed, right down the literal toilet. It took her a while to realize that she had sucked the tobacco right out of the cigarette, and the filter tasted bland. She flicked it away at the robotic bartender, who paused to pick it up.
Then she drew her Lupara and blasted its head off. It collapsed in a heap of sparks and metal.
Her mechanical arm soaked the recoil, but for once she found it annoying that she couldn’t feel it, except for what remained of her shoulder. A sharp pain or something, anything, might stave off her sudden urge to vomit. Perhaps Jerry had been right, and she should have just hidden and waited, and surrendered. Why did she have to shove her foot into everyone’s business like this?
She snapped the sawn-off shotgun open and produced two more rounds for it, replacing the spent shells.
Down below, the fight continued in earnest. She glanced at it through the window. The glass window. The glass window that had been bulletproofed?
Leveling the Lupara, her modified Shot 12, she blasted it point-blank. The first shot shattered the glass from the inside, but it held. The second shot punched a hole about the size of her fist through the already spiderwebbed mess.
And through this hole she put Deliverance. She punched a few shards from the beginning of her peep-hole, and braced her legs wide for the shock of the high-caliber rifle. Even then, she knew she wouldn’t have as stable a platform as she might if she used the bipod. But, no choice now. She pulled her hood back and let her sliver hair fall out, though not over the scope. There, in that little tube, she sighted down.
And began to fire.
Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.
The magazine empty, she discarded it, snapping another into its place. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.
They were just dolls, after all. She had set up the explosives herself, set up all the dominoes that had led to the soldiers being surrounded. This house of cards was hers. She had built it. She could topple it. Or at least, if she couldn’t topple it, she could try to even the playing field for them, blow out some of those drones, and hope they believed she were sincere.
Sorry, Jerry. Survive.