Spook dropped to the floor, gasping for breath from the two vicious blows to her midsection. Her Pain Threshold Modifier kicked in instantly which let her ignore the lasting damage but didn't refill her lungs any faster. Someday she'd get a synthetic pair which breathed quicker and let her store up more oxygen for dire straits, if she lived that long. Fortunately the big man with his claw gave her the momentary reprieve she needed, tucking her legs up beneath her so that she could more easily spring to her feet.<br/><br/>Big Tiger was down within a moment from the combination of unseen gunfire and their armoured foe's agile kick, the helmeted man training his sights on her once more. Spook was already moving right at him, getting in close was still the only chance she had of not getting riddled by bullets, but this time she wasn't fast enough. The SMG got off a short burst, at least one bullet clipping her left arm and ricochetting away, others tore through the loose white fabric covering her upper body leaving a thin red gash near her ribs which quickly begain to stain the top. Again her PTM as well as the natural adrenaline coursing through her body let her ignore the pain, as long as she won the fight there would be a chance to get patched up afterward. At the very least she wasn't going to die before she'd taken the man in front of her down too.<br/><br/>With a snarl of defiance, Spook lashed out with her right hand to reach for the gun which was still firing even as she moved past, close enough again to nearly be chest to chest with the assailant. She didn't try to knock the weapon loose, that would take too long and let him repeat the same attacks which dropped her the first time. Instead she grasped at the muzzle, twisting with her fingers and wrist. While the man was armoured and his arm was enchanced prosthetic designed to take punishment guns were more delicate than that, built to unload bullets and not much else. All she had to do was break it a little bit, bend the barrel and fuck its accuracy.<br/><br/>Once more a knee came up to devestating affect, but at least this time she was expecting it and while she groaned and wheezed, she had enough of her wits about her to respond with an attack of her own. Having faith the SMG was at the least less of a threat now, she went for what seemed the other weakness the man had by slamming her fist right into the multi-eyed helmet. Doubtless it was reinforced, but obviously its main use was targetting, letting him see far more of the battlefield than two eyes could ever allow and pinpointing movements. There was a sharp<i>crack</i>when her metal fist connected, but not obvious damage to the helmet itself. The blow forced to man back a step, it couldn't have been pleasant for his head, even if it caused no pain. Spook didn't let up, pushing her body onward to strike again, the sound ringing through the hallway, then a third time as her prosthetic arm moved with mechanical precision and force, letting her smash into the same spot over and over again, keeping the man stumbling on his feet.<br/><br/>The fourth punch rewarded her with a small split, a vertical seam between two of the eye lenses. The fifth widened the crack, jagged lines branching off of it as black flecks fell away. She'd managed to do some damage at least, but already Spook's mostly flesh and blood body was flagging; her arm could keep on punching only if she could continue to follow up each time and she needed to stop and breathe or else end up passing out. Just a moment to suck in some air again, that's what she needed, but did she have that kind of time? Trying to scream and managing more of a wheeze, Spook stepped forward and swung her arm with all the weight behind it that she could muster, sending the man tumbling back against the wall before she at last allowed herself to properly use her lungs again, breathing in deeply and desperately.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>