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“Hope you're happy!” That's all I remember hearin' afore she ran out in front of us. It was like somethin' out of a pre-Golden Age war flick, you know, where the hero's bud goes out in a blaze of glory so their death can be rightly avenged. Only she didn't die. They did. The weapon reeled like it was bein' held by a child doin' a pee-pee dance, aimin' at nothin' and hittin' everythin'. Dem spiders skittered for their lives. When she stopped, nothin' was moving. She saved us. I sidled up to her, real slow, checking out the piece and all I could do was sputter, “That there, that's some… sweet business.” She looked me over cold, lowered the gun and said, “You ain't gotta tell me.”