Arms come up, reflexively to shield his head and face from the white sparks raining down. Dammit. White fire sears his skin through the uniform he's wearing. He needs to get up on top of these things, but the earlier ankle injury's still nagging at him. "What's good for the goose, gander, all that crap," he yells back. "Whatever it takes!"

A piece of metal turns into a makeshift shield. Damn bowstring ...