Snippet #2453658

A few rounds pierced Fenrias's flesh in the shoulder and abdomen despite his feral agility. He growled as he popped several of his own rounds into the knees of the fleeing Russians in a hope to slow them down. When the gangsters disappeared into the street, the Good Samaritan leaned against the brick wall and winced. He slumped onto the ground, leaving a streak of blood along the wall, and groaned.

"Oi, lasseh." he called out to the girl with his characteristic Scottish accent. "Is the tin-man alright?"

Fenrias glanced towards the entrance to the alley and the direction of the approaching sirens. He could hear their radios from here. "Jesus Christ..." he grumbled as he tried to stand. "Need t' get out o' here..."