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The Sound of Bullets Dancing

Bullet casings fell to the cement floor making metallic notes to the ears. A symphony of metal, sweet to some but sour to others. The conductor of this particular song was sweating and tired, but he kept the music going.

Max kept pulling the trigger on the guns until the last bullet left. Then he ducked down to reload. He glanced over at Mags who had torn a strip of her shirt.

"No matter how many fall there seems to be two more that spring up," he told her.

"Crap," Mags said. She was bandaging up Frank's leg.

"Well," Frank said. "Talk about being between a rock and a hard place."

"You giving up already?" Mags asked him with a wink.

"If you guys want to chat on your own time that's fine by me," Max said after sliding the reload clip into one of his guns. "But there's another pressing matter going on here."