<br/><div class="floatleft">(http://ginva.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/01.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Ren Colbert<br/><strong>Location: </strong>Hitting the deck<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>John, everyone<br/><br/>"Contact!" Ren shouted, pretty needlessly as the invaders' first shots came a tenth of a second later.  Dropping flat to the ramps, she started an awkward reverse crab-crawl, back into the body of the transport, to get some elevation. Street level was a crap place for a sniper, especially in a zone gone suddenly target-rich. Flipping out the rifle's integral bipod, she grounded the feet firmly against the deck grid and, trying to get a grip on her shivering, started to scan again.<br/><br/>"Three Tangos, plus seventy-five, left." Her voice was at least obeying her, staying frosty, as she read the data off to the teams. "One Tango, plus 75, up. Rooftop. Taking the-"  With a howl like a blown transmission, two nightmare things crashed around the corner of the butcher shop, all but face-to-face with her deployed teammates. Swearing, she jerked the barrel down, sighted on the center of mass of one of the things, took up the slack on the trigger-<br/><br/>-yanked the heavy weapon skyward again as someone sprinted across her line, trying to check the things' advance. Even suppressed, the massive charge made enough noise to startle her, reflected in the enclosed space of the bay. Where the slug came down, who knew?  Probably Dubai.<br/><br/>Slamming the rifle back level, she started an even fire, aiming high to avoid clipping her cadre mates, sending a hail of .50 shells towards the huge things, more as a form of suppression than anything else.<em> Not a close-quarters weapon my ass. Suck it!</em>