#railguntears

[tixija-blog]

    Howling, screaming  through the trees like the voice stolen from her throat but, more raw, more painful, more primal. Quiet’s shoulders tense, the hand around her rifle protectively tightening to bring it closer to her chest. The sound shatters, breaks off into the trees. Whatever was here it isn’t friendly, as mad sobbing collides with the thudding footfalls of something big, something very big.

What in the hell was going on here?

@railguntears

[tixija-blog]

When it comes to counter-sniping, Crying Wolf has an unfair advantage. She's wearing a massive mechsuit, for one. And for two, she's bringing a rail gun to a sniper rifle party. So, just a bit of an unfair advantage. Not that Crying Wolf thinks about it, too busy crying and taking a shot at Quiet.

      Quiet’s bag of tricks is swiftly running out. Dematerializing countered by olfactory tracking, an over powered gun, and seriously armored body.

Quiet always liked a challenge.

Her body hums through the air, her smaller frame less of a target and able to swoop in between cover, trying to stay two steps ahead of the mounted gun that sliced through metal walls like paper. There is no option for sitting back, leisurely taking a shot as she waits for the feline-esque body to expose it’s weaknesses. But if she demands to be the cat, then Quiet will be the mouse. Her body scrambling around corners and over fences with the mech suit thundering behind her. No points for subtlety.

Her markings flare as dirt covered fingers scramble up a wall, her speed still faster than any normal man but barely keeping pace above that suit, but at last she had her goal. Too much distance, no way that thing can just pounce on her. Her body fading in and out of sight as she climbs up the watch tower feeling the vibrations of bullets just missing their mark. It’s a dangerous move, her only option for escape a long jump into the trampled terrain below, but no mouse willingly steps into a corner without a hole behind them.

Quiet even daring enough as she hears the rail gun come around, mixing with the intermittent sobs that gave away the monster’s position more than the weight of the suit did. She’s up in a moment, two guns facing each other in the clearing. The wolf may have power, but Quiet has something better.

The woman below fires first, the slanted roof of the tower exploding into shrapnel that buffets against her, the high pitch screech of the projectile flying past her with enough heat to curl a few of her hairs. But Quiet moved in that time, and hanging half out of the remains of the tower fires as her body slowly plummets to the ground. It’s only one shot, but it’s enough - the elongated bullet slipping between her and the rail gun to slam into the beast’s white helmet, cracking it away from her face.