Below me, Lucy and Mannequin fought, the smaller Bastard dancing around the edges, trying to find an avenue for attack, or hampering Mannequin’s movements.  Lucy managed to get on top of him.

The doggos have by far the best chances out of anyone here to actually deal damage to Mannequin.

A third gunshot sounded.  There was a long pause, where nothing and nobody moved, and then a fourth gunshot.  Lucy slumped over, crashing on top of Bastard. 

Shit.

Is she dead or just incapacitated? They’re only somewhat bulletproof, after all. Or, not exactly proof, per se, more… spongy?

Mannequin stood, taking a moment to use a knife to cut at the threads that wound around his arms and legs.  When he was done, he disconnected the chain that ran to the hand that held me aloft.  I was left hanging from the metal ring.

Well. It’s pretty clear who’s winning so far. How do you turn this around, Taylor?

I suppose the first step would be making your way to a less precarious position.

He watched me for several long seconds, his head raised.  He abandoned his grip on the back of my neck, and his arm dropped into his waiting hand.

“I’m not letting you keep another one.”

The chain fed through the metal loop, running over my fingertips, before it was gone.

A few seconds passed, and I realized he was still staring up at me, one finger pointing at me.

“You. Come down here already. Splat into the ground for me.”

Or just about anything else. That point could mean a lot of things.

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