Running out of bullets, Brisa swooped down and took another gun from a nearby body, her body aching for want of rest. She couldn’t do this for much longer. For every Pure that fell it seemed like two more reared in their place. Spinning around, she came face to face with another intimidating person dressed in black, the mask covering his face spattered with blood. He raised a gun to her forehead and and she closed her eyes, bracing for the shot, for it all to end. Her heart beat in her throat, adrenaline pumping, and over the rushing sound filling her ears she heard a click. Her eyes hesitantly flicked open before she felt a blow to her head, and she crumpled to the ground. A thought entered her flickering consciousness as black spots swam in front of her eyes. His gun was empty. She weakly lifted her gun to point in his general direction and pulled the trigger, seeing the looming black shape above her fall back. The kick caused her to drop the gun, and she found she could no longer raise her hand to try and grab it again. There’s nothing more I can do. We’re losing. She was oddly aware of a trickle of blood dripping down her face from the place on her forehead where his pistol had met her skin. Now what? She wondered, fading in and out of consciousness.But Peter was already gone. He appeared several minutes later, though, having branch-slapped some more Pure soldiers. A bullet-proof vest was draped over his hoodie.
He swayed and tried not to fall to the ground. "Hey," he panted, "is it just me, or are there more of these... these.. these..." he flapped a hand at the Pure.