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Dragon's breath is a type of shotgun shell that contains magnesium pellets or shards and creates an incendiary effect when fired. When fired, the shell can produce sparks and flames that can travel up to 100–300 feet. Dragon's breath is typically loaded into 12-gauge 23⁄4″ (18.5 mm × 69.9 mm) shot shells and can be fired from a modified choke barrel or improved cylinder bore.[/center]
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Such a powerful name isn’t it? Dragon Breath, but despite the images to which the words conjure up, and indeed witnessing the impressive burst it creates, there were no actual dragons harmed in the making. No, it was good ol’ fashioned human ingenuity that created such ammunition. Sure, sure, using such a thing is considered a warcrime, but when ever did a man like James give a flying turtles fuck about such a piece of paper? Besides, the fight against these things wasn’t a war. No sir, it was a culling. It was a genocide. It was justice. It was right. So, if he had to use every bit of burning hell that he could get his not-so-grubby hands on? 

[b]Order must be maintained.[/b]

It was that voice, that so possessive ‘[i]you broke my laws[/i].’
Female yes, but behind him. Someone which he had not heard before, nor did he have the slightest sense that he was being walked up on. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and as Mal would have put it… well put him on red alert.

There was no casual comment. No slick remark, or turn of graceful motion that seemed to have all the time in the world. No, James moved as quick as a snake plucking a bird from the branch of a tree. The man moved with the quickness that was an trapdoor spider suddenly appearing from its ingenious little hideaway to snag its prey.

James was quick, had to be in his little line of work didn’t he? The fact that he still had all of his fingers, toes, eyes, and ears were proof enough of that. Perhaps to reinforce that idea, he wheeled upon the back of his heel, jacket flared open, and even before it was pulled completely free of its hold within the folds….

BOOM said the sawed off single shot boomstick.

Like a firework filled with shrapnel, searing magnesium pellets launched by the grains of ignited gunpowder. The impact would be deadly to a human, and in the confined space of the abandoned building, the sound was all but deafening. Though there was no time to gloat, no motion wasted, no pause or quarter given. No time to put out the edge of his jacket that had caught just the rim of the blast that was ejected out of the front of that modified weapon.

The clatter of the shotgun against the hard floor was nothing to his boom stick deafened ears, but he didn't need to hear the cast away now empty weapon. As if taking the momentum from it he wheeled, all but turned about on the ball of his foot, a dancer Waltzing below a chandelier could never be as punctual to rhythm as the man seemed to be. There was no grace. There was no song in his motions. Every action devoid of wasted potential. Every twitch of muscles precisely the amount he needed it to be to accomplish what was required of them.

The grenade like object not thrown, but left below his feet, and already he was moving.

Maybe not to most peoples ears, because the sight of such a thing would cause panic, but flash bangs as they are commonly referred to as, give off a certain sound. Less then a moment, just a soft hiss like that of a serpents tongue against scales was certainty there. Like a Another bright as the sun explosion. Another BOOM of disorientating impact would drive itself against ear drums, but no longer was it under his feet, because James was moving like a god damned cockroach. If you've ever lived in New York Fellow Traveler, you know just how fast and devious those little fuckers could be.

Not out the way he came, nor passed the woman who moved like a cat in the night. No, to freedom. Away from her sight. Unsure if it was a vampire, doggy, or hell.. could be even a siren for all he knew. Yet, in that flurry of two assaults all his bets were covered. It wasn't meant to kill, no. It was meant to deafen their ears, and his own. It was meant to blind. It was meant to turn the sense of scent away. It was meant as a freaking Bat Man's vanishing act.

And while his parents had not been killed by some mugger in an alley...
And while JUSTICE was never a concern of his...
Nor was he wearing black and yellow spandex...

James was very good at this little magicians trick.
He was very good at getting away.
He was very good at living.

Someone had to be right? Someone had to settle the scores. Someone had to make sure...

Order was maintained, even at the cost of ruining a perfectly good jacket.
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Had she ever heard a Wolf give off a woof?

The impact to the ground drove a proverbial fist into the lungs of Mal, and without meaning it as a joke at all, the sound was very much like that. Perhaps a oof, or errrrf, but sure did sound like the driving force into him was a low breathless woooof didn't it? Agitation for the first time other then which was on display for the bird was on display in his next set of words. Air still fighting to come back into him...

"...you would [i][u]please[/u][/i] stop with the making me fall into things?"

Now with oak colored eyes turning upward towards the scene around him, a quick set of heads was counted. One was missing from the pack, and the women too would know it. Their little comment was clear to his ears that all but pricked upon his at the moment human shaped skull. One of them was on the ground unmoving, the other one bleeding. Recovery for him was quick, already having tended to his own wounds from earlier, perhaps not as quick as James, but quick enough. He moved beside the one who did not have motion in herself. Fingers moved without hesitation to wipe blood away from her nose, and touch slipped to the side of her neck.

"Hey, you alright?" Why do people always say that when someone is hurt. Was to trying to trick themselves into believing that the true victim of the situation was merely playing a trick? Or was it something instinctual? Mal couldn't tell you, and neither could I Fellow Traveler, all that was known is that he was just like everyone else in that regard. Her head gently cradled, his eyes flashed towards the one doubled over holding her stomach.

Panic serves nothing to a man who holds the turning of times in his hands. Cool as ever after his little cheeky comment, agitation lost, and ready to do what needs to be done. Words simple, clean, as if a soldier awaiting the voice of a general.

"Orders?"
Not what happened.
Not what went wrong.
Or god damnit that hurt.

No, just a man ready to find the solution, putting emotions and reactions aside. Those could come later. Right now one was missing. Right now it looked like they had been attacked. Something had gone wrong, that much was clear.

The Wolf inside of him laughed, laughed deeply. Mal even now could feel it there in the back of his mind. 'If only the bird could see his princess now', it mocked in silent voice in the corners of his being.

Mal though... despite that calm demeanor, despite that single word question, worry did show in his eyes. Not for the corpse. Not for the lost, but for the problem that could be solved at this very moment.