Ila let go of Syn's leg and woke up, charging the nearest masked figure, tackling them to the ground, their gun skidding across the floor, out of reach.
Her strength was monstrous, her hands pinning the figure's arms, her teal eyes blazing with fury.
The second figure raised their pistol, aiming for Ila, but she was clever, twisting to use the pinned figure as a shield, their space suit a barrier, the shot impossible without risking their ally.
"Pako, go! Take Syn. I got her!" the pinned figure shouted, their voice muffled but fierce, their body struggling under Ila's relentless grasp.
They surged, their legs hooking around Ila's, pushing her toward the metro wall, creating a gap for the second figure—Pako—to move.
Pako darted through the gap, her space suit glinting, her boots silent on the blood-slicked floor.
She reached Syn, his body slumped, his breathing shallow, his hazel eyes half-open, barely conscious.
