The Vindicator roars, the whirling barrels spitting fire, the weapon’s
rapid-fire stammer rising to thunder quick and raw. Armor-piercing shells chew 
up the side of the limo, smashing windows and flattening tires, shredding the 
soft-bodied humans in-between like so much fleshly foliage. Shattered glass and 
spraying blood shower the limo and the concrete floor. The bodies twist and spin 
and topple. Tikki spends the final few rounds of the Vindicator’s fifty-round
magazine on her primary target, Ryokai’s body. It leaves the corpse looking like
carrion, shredded pulp, and that is very satisfactory.