#shield open starter

[that-catholic-shinobi]

"This is no place to laugh. I'm about to go on with a patient." Tess says, smiling at her friend. "We can go to lunch after my rounds."

[littlelostpriestess]

Kevlar was amazing stuff. At the moment, Faern'ya was as grateful for its strength as she was its lightness. She crouched behind the wall she had ducked behind, out of the field of fire, and keyed her comm unit.

"Simmons, didn't you say this one preferred using his powers?"

"Yes, ma'am," Agent Simmons' voice responded in her ear. "Preferred is the operative term, though. He has also been known to use guns, knives, and explosives, when his powers weren't enough to get the job done."

"Al, vith," Faern'ya muttered under her breath. "No question about his use of guns. Now I just have to hope he doesn't start throwing ..." she reacted without thinking, her scythe moving in a swing that met the incoming grenade and batted it back toward its point of origin "... grenades."

"Was that an explosion I just heard, ma'am?" Agent Simmons asked.

"Yes," Faern'ya grated out, while sprinting from cover toward her target. "Later. Moving."

Her target, a dark-haired man who looked as if he would be more comfortable being interviewed by Inc. Magazine than wielding the MP5 he was waving unsteadily toward Faern'ya, threw a hand in her direction. An impact, like a disembodied fist, struck Faern'ya in the chest. The force of the blow was spread by the scales of her armor, so instead of shattering her sternum and caving in her chest, it merely knocked her off her feet and left her feeling as if several ribs had cracked under the blow.

"Where's ... my ... backup?" Faern'ya gasped, then winced and let out a soft whimper when she tried taking a full breath. No doubt about it, those were broken ribs she was feeling.

"Caught in a firefight two floors below you," Agent Simmons said. "HYDRA sent a team after him, too."

"I guarantee," Faern'ya hissed through clenched teeth, "Chath zotreth!" A column of fire slammed into her target, filling the space between ceiling and floor, and a good ten feet in all directions from where he had been standing. "They're not getting him."

She slid to the floor, only her grip on her scythe preventing her from falling on her face. "Tell the Commander ... I'm sorry ... I couldn't ... bring him in."

"You can tell her yourself," Agent Simmons said. "Faern'ya? ... Faern'ya! ... Abbess! ... I'm sending a pick-up!"

I hate broken ribs, Faern'ya thought, too tired to respond to Agent Simmons. They always make it hard to breathe, hard to talk, hard to ... stay awake.