Hammer stops on the threshold, sweeping the front room with his smartgun, the 
red triangle of an optical targeting sight flying across the room even as he 
looks down. Dog Bite lays sprawled face-down on the floor. What’s left of the
back of his studded synthleather jacket is in tatters, shredded. There’s almost
nothing left of his back. Four vicious gouges descend from the base of his neck to just below the
shoulder blades, melding there into a single gory wound that reaches to the base 
of his spine. Blood and gore from the wounds are still oozing down his sides, 
spreading across the floor.