Re: Run away!

<snip>
The French decided to make a move, most of them leapt from their
hiding place, and started firing at the two, luckily Melissa appeared
at the side of the landing bay, on her way up to the medical section
of the giant ship.
"Hey!" she called to Emily, not sure who she was. "over here!" she
added, as Emily got to her feet, and ran to the door, keeping her
exceedingly high head down as low as she could as she ran for the exit.
<end snip>
Mk.8 was now alone.
"Gee, this is just wonderful!" he said to himself sarcastically.
"At least if Efof was here, he could fall over and draw their
attention for a few seconds. Hell, even maybe hit a few of them while
he's at it."
He tapped into the security frequency, and called for reinforcements.
He heard a few pissed off moans come back in response, and he guessed
they were probably grunts sitting in Parrots.
"Well, looks like I'm on my own."
He sent a boost of power to his anti-grav system, and drew his katana.
He shot up into the air and flew back down right in the middle of the
French forces. They were stunned and had little time to react. Despite
this, they still had the advantage both in numbers and in firepower.
They all had their rifles trained on Mk.8, who assessed the situation.
"Well, been swell guy's, but the swelling's gone down."
He lunged at them, swinging wildly with one arm, and shooting with the
other. Bullets and bazookoid rounds were flying everywhere, and the
French were nowhere near skilled enough marksmen to hit anything
moving around as fast as Mk.8, and usually ended up shooting each other.
One French troop did however manage to make a significant hit to
Mk.8's lower torso.
Mk.8 paused, and looked down at the amber liquid spilling out.
The French too, paused to observe.
"Ya basterds! That was my stash of 300 proof lager!"
In a blind rage, he once again diverted power to his anti-grav system,
and soared above the French.
The bountiful booze continued to spew forth, soaking the entire
encampment, and Mk.8 primed an incendiary grenade, and dropped it.
It went off with a huge flash, and ignited the beer, causing the
French to catch light and run around wildly.
Mk.8 landed near the exit, and listened with a degree of satisfaction
to the tortured screams of the French.
He had seen a lot of death in his time, most of which was surprisingly
not caused by him.
He had been a viral research assistant back in the days before any of
his upgrades. He only became a tool of violence when he had to protect
his creator from Dr. Hildegard Lindstrom.
Even before then, he had been able to gain a very particular image f
life. He was comfortable in the knowledge that his consciousness was
more or less safe, as long as his primary memory core remained intact.
But all organic life was fleeting, and meant little to him. At least,
it had till he had joined the Blue Dwarf. He had since befriended many
of the crew, and he would try to protect them no matter what. Organic
life actually meant something to him now. And yet here he was, taking
many lives in a wave of fire and destruction. He reasoned that he was
only protecting himself, and the lives onboard the Blue Dwarf, and
this comforted him.
The doors in front of him opened, and a few grunts emerged.
"We're ready to take on the French, sir!" one of them chimed in.
They looked over Mk.8's shoulder, and saw the destruction.
"Ah"
Mk.8 shot him in the foot, and floated up into the ship.
He sent a message to the captain: "Capt. Jed. French turning to
violence. Engage forces at your digression. Awaiting orders."
<tag>