<div align="center">(http://i44.tinypic.com/juwjh2.jpg)<br/><strong>In the Stacks of Shipping containers<br/>Lee and Choi And Johnson and Clark.</strong></div><br/>The didn't quite put the gun down as much as she put herself down, right on her ass.  A metallic rattle and clatter followed, as her ass kicked aside a number of tin cans, sending them across the metal floor of the container.  She seemed to slump back against a saggy cardboard box, which collapsed even more with her weight, barely supporting her, while the cans eventually scattered, the sound muffled by various wrappers and papers that clogged up the floor of the container, almost as some sort of nest.<br/><br/>She sat limply, her jaw hanging open slackly, her eyes unfocusing as she settled back.  Her feet came up, lifting her knees to her chest.  She draped her arms down her knees, and let the pistol hang limply from her hand, the other arm clutching a bundle of cloth against her stomach, between her thighs and her torso.  Her limbs were long, and narrow, her skin hanging off her arms loosely, like a shirt that was just too big.  Dirt lay smeared across her face, sunk into the hollows of her cheeks and down her bare forearms.  She started to shiver a bit, shaking sharply, but minutely.  Her lungs kept working, though, and her breath formed a fog in the cool night air.<br/><br/>The stench of the place was starting to get overwhelming.