[h3][color=mediumspringgreen]Lenora Puglisevic[/color][/h3]
[@Horrid][@GingerBoi123][@SepticGentleman]

Nora lurched to her feet, both hands clawing at her chest, drawing in a harsh, gasping breath.  She [i]knew[/i] she was dead.  She could remember with literally heart-stopping clarity the sensation of her sternum flexing inward past its breaking point, and sharp bone piercing her lungs as her ribs splintered.  She knew with absolute certainty that this had happened.  She [i]had[/i] to be dead.  She was mortally wounded.  She could [i]feel[/i] it, still.  And yet at the same time, her brain was receiving signals from her limbs that she was whole, and healthy, and not in any immediate peril.  The two realities warred in her mind as Nora struggled to breathe, fighting to convince herself that her ribs weren't broken and she could inhale without searing agony ripping through her thoracic cavity.

A wave of intense dizziness washed over her.  Her vision narrowed to a silver-edged tunnel, her heartbeat drumming in her ears.  Cold sweat beaded up on her skin and she was concerned for a moment that she was either going to vomit or crap her pants, possibly both.  Fortunately, neither happened.  The blonde sank to a half-kneeling crouch, both palms flat on the floor to keep her from collapsing completely, but slowly the attack - whatever it had been - passed, and she became aware of the Nexus room around her again.  Huge, hot tears were running down her cheeks.  Malcolm and Ursula didn't look any better - one was mopping up the evidence of his digestive mishap, while the other was retreating to a corner to presumably shed some superfluous alveoli. 

"That was-" she began, panting, "that-" she sat down on the ground, legs sprawled out in front of her.  "I didn't like that," she finally finished.  She took another couple of breaths, then clumsily tapped her nose.  "But I think I can track him by smell now.  Does that help?  I want that to be helpful."

[hr]
[h3][color=MediumSpringGreen]E.A. Bobby Smith[/color][/h3]
[@ScarlettWaters16][@Twisted Fate]

Jared didn't look so good.  In fact, Jared didn't look good at all, now that his death-tornado had expended itself and he was collapsing on the ground.  Bobby would have really liked to stay and defend his fallen ally, but Jazz was already beginning the assault on the larger, mini-gun armed Aggressor, and was probably in quite a bit more peril than Jared was at the moment.

"Here," he said, pressing his stolen gun into Jared's burned, nearly-unconscious hand.  "So you can shoot anyone who gets near.  Uh, if you're, you know, still alive."  He smiled weakly, his enormous teeth pulling the expression into a slightly awful grimace.  

Jazz was taunting the Aggressor and swooping through the air, dodging the stream of bullets from the revolving barrels of the Aggressor's gun.  Bobby grabbed one of the sticks-with-nails from the fist pair of attackers and leapt into the fray.  The aggressor was a few inches taller than him, but had more human-like proportions than gangle-legged Bobby.  He didn't anticipate that being a serious problem.  While his enemy was looking up, shooting at the be-winged and be-taloned aerial assaulter, Bobby swung his improvised hakapik at his foe's head.  He spun with the strike, putting the torque from his torso into the blow.  The Aggressor leaned away and under the blow, saving himself from a braining.  At the same time, however, Bobby aimed a powerful cloven-hoofed kick at his nearest hand, the one supporting the barrel of the gun.  The were's kick broke bones in the Aggressor's wrist, and the minigun slipped out of his spasming hand, swinging down to point at the ground where a spray of bullets shattered the pavement and sent up a cloud of stinging shards.