Clusterfrag

Doc waves Rawhide away.

"Go, go! I've got this. I'll catch up with you," he says, redoubling his efforts to crack the safe.

Guard 2 takes aim at Max and fires with a Viper Slivergun.
((5P DAMAGE))

A stray flechette penetrates Max's armor and wedges itself deep inside his shoulder.

Max blurts out in pain as the bullet sears through his flesh,

"FRAG!!"

The elf goes about clutching his wound, grunting in anguish as his fingers find the hole and instinctively shield it from further incursions.

The Fly-Spy drone has been waiting patiently for further orders, having followed Bell into the hangar.

Seeing through its eyes, the direction that the battle has taken, Doc commands it to fly headlong into the first guard.

The second guard, sensing an easy opportunity, fires on Max.
(( 6P DAMAGE. ))

Another flechette catches Max in the chest, knocking him flat on his ass. He is in dire straits!

"Got him! I think he might be dead."

Both of the guards emerge warily from cover.

Blood spurts from Max's wounds and sprays from his mouth as he cries out wordlessly.

Rawhide creeps towards the doorway as he approaches, hoping to gain the element of surprise in combat.

((I think it's actually more risky for Tyros to heal Max because there is a fair chance you won't kill them both with your wound modifiers and they will ice you in your weakened state. Better to kill them or at least distract them, I think. More importantly, charging them would definitely be Tyros' reaction.))

Tyros is shocked to see Max go down in a spray of blood. Despite the precariousness of some of their work, the team had thus far managed to avoid any near fatal injuries. The tension between the troll and elf that always somewhat permeated their relationship vanishes for Tyros at the moment the elf hits the ground.

"BASTARDS!"

Tyros' charges the two guards and his massive, invisible blade makes two wide sweeps, taking one and then the other in a smooth, continuous motion. (my basic dice pool is 13, minus 2 for sustaining, so I'll split it 6 dice on guard 1 and 5 on guard 2. Plus 3 for reach and 4 for invis modifiers for both, means I should be rolling 13 and 12 dice respectively, against whatever unarmed combat they have. Don't forget the claymore has -1 AP for each as well.)

The security guards hear (but don't see) something large bounding towards them.
The first sweep of the claymore cuts the guard from crotch to chin, effectively splitting him in two.
Returning the blade towards the second guard rewards Tyros with a deep gash that penetrates halfway into the guard's body. He gives a strangled cry, claws at the blade, and slides off--dead.

Rawhide stands up straight, looking a tad bit disappointed he didn't get in on the action... until he sees Max. His face drains of color and the typically stoic dwarf looks shellshocked.

"Oh, jesus, no!"

He rushes over and holds his palms against Max's chest wound, attempting to staunch the blood.

"Tyros, can't you do something?"

Despite his anxiety over his comrade's predicament, Doc works as calmly as he can. As he bridges two circuits, the door to the safe swings open.

Inside, nestled in a haze of vapor, is the fifth and final canister.

Doc pulls his hands up inside the sleeves of his coat, and grabs the canister.

< I got it! I'm on my way > He comms.

Cradling it under his left arm, and with his SMG in his right hand, he runs as fast as he can manage without being tripped up by the manner in which gravity changes with each foot step.

Tyros drops invisibiltity as he returns his claymore to its backsheath. Running over to kneel down next to Max, he holds his hands slightly above the wounds (centering) and wills the flesh to knit itself back together (heal, f6).

Max feels a searing pain as astral energies pull the flechette darts free of his body and begin to re-knit sinew and cauterize veins. The blood dries and crusts off, and the elf is left with minor, aching wounds.
(( 1S DAMAGE. ))

Tyros feels a slight swimming in his head, but he wraps up the spell with minimal strain.

Max paws numbly at his wounds, still in tremendous pain, but rapt in what feels like a muted commercial break from it. Vacantly, he mutters,

"Fraggin' hell..."

Looking again around his surroundings, Max sees the two guards-- the first cleft in two and the other with a massive gaping wound. The elf nods and looks plaintively back to the troll kneeling over him, and sincerely says,

"Thanks. I owe you one."

Max begins to work himself back to his feet, but with the pain of the wounds and healing still fresh in his body and mind, the work is slow-going.

Rawhide heaves a gigantic sigh.

"Thank god for your flim-flam, Tyros."

A strange noise, a bit like a balloon being filled with helium, punctuates the exhausted silence. All of the atmosphere begins to drain out of the room, through a breach in the hull.

Max looks up as he struggles to his feet.

"Sounds like our cue to exit stage left," Max says as he shambles into the escape pod, collapsing in an exhausted, broken pile into one of the seats. Pulling his restraints over himself and fastening them with the last bit of strength he has, Max goes all but limp and awaits their exit.

Doc runs into the hangar at full tilt, and doesn't slow down at the door to the escape pod. Landing in a seat with all his momentum, he straps in and waits for the others.

"You are a valuable asset to the Mitsuhama corporation," says an excited, automated female voice.

"Please be sure to locate the safety harnesses located within the protective webbing. Insert the latch into..."

Rawhide fumbles with his buckles. "I hate space. Why is it even a thing? It shouldn't be a thing!"

Tyros sits down in a seat clearly not designed with a troll in mind and straps himself in. "Someone make it go!"

Doc slams down the activation lever and the door to the pod slams shut. The pod shudders and then disassociates from the station, disposable thrusters generating incredible momentum. The Mitsuhama space station begins to shrink through a tiny viewport in the pod door, its hull warping as the multiple fissures give way to the power of physics.

It only takes a few minutes before gravity resumes its tenacious hold on the runners and the g-forces begin to grow.

Rawhide looks particularly nervous. "This tin can ain't gonna burn up?"

"Thank you for choosing the Mitsuhama Emergency Safety Vessel. We know you have a wide variety of safety vessels to choose from..."

The temperature in the cabin grows as the pod slams into Earth's atmosphere.

"...and we recognize that you have chosen Mitsuhama."

Rawhide gnaws on his beard and clings to the safety webbing.

"Please do not attempt to exit the safety vessel until it has completed the surface-impaction procedure."

Tyros breaks into a wide, shit eating, grin, in the face of this possible doom overwhich he has no control. "Nothing to do but hold on a pray!"

Max, delirious from exhaustion, begins singing at mid-level,

"I'm a rocket maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan..."

Doc looks out the small window at the planet below, before turning his gaze to the decaying space station behind them. He can almost see it starting to rotate from the forces of the venting gas.

"How long do you figure before insurance companies start listing us under 'Acts of God'?" He asks with a slight twinge of satisfaction.

Max laughs,

"Not soon enough!"

For a moment, as the pod tumbles, the dawn of a new day is visible through the smudged viewport. A blade of brilliant sunlight penetrates the quickly approaching cloud layer in a culmination of impossible madness and beauty. The breath-taking scene transforms in a literal sense as the g-forces knock the wind from each runner. A sound like the end of the world fills their ears and the tiny vessel shudders violently.

Rawhide somehow manages to shout against the din. "I wonder if this is going to--"

Sensation of the outside world tumbles away in a chaotic combination of kinetic force and sound. You're vaguely aware of a large impact just as you plunge into the icy depths of unconsciousness.