Time slowed down to a trickle. The doors chimed, sliding open to reveal the muzzle of a gun and its grinning gunman. White walls lit up with red as blaster fire filled the tight corridor. Bolt after bolt exploded against their shield of black, roaring into nothing. His effort was the taut line of her spine and she lent him strength with the baring of teeth.
Fire streamed forth – the distance slowly consumed with each step.
Aver pinpointed her consciousness, crawling into the intricate mechanism of the chaingun. Past the bolt, through the helix of the spring, and right into the actuating module. She felt the heat of molecules passing her by, the sizzle of power as they danced around and through her.
And then she flexed.
Her arms wrapped around Loray as the elevator exploded, pulling him into her and down, down, down. Expanding gas and flames swept over corridor, scorching the sterile décor of the lobby. The desk erupted into expensive mahogany splinters; the bantha leather armchairs cracked apart and crashed through the glass statue in the middle of the room.
Smoke swirled around their motionless bodies – the acrid stink of burning fat wafted from the ruins of the lift.
Groaning, Aver rolled off her partner. Explosions did wonders for cracked ribs. Every aggravated injury was screaming, little pinpricks of fire in her chest and gut.
“Frak,” she breathed, and gripped the edge of the broken counter to find her feet again. “Guess we’re gonna climb another elevator shaft.” A dry chuckle escaped her mouth as she gestured forward. “After you.”
A short breather – just a minute – to let those ribs stitch together again.