Crimson Avenger

The smell of cordite assaulted her nostrils. The gunmen were shaken by her unyielding assaults on their friends as though scum like them had friends and they raised their guns to fire at her as a unit. She was already on the move again, but this time she was a bit slower. One of the bullets grazed her, tearing her coat and drawing blood, but the other sank deep into her leg. She cried out in pain as the hot lead buried itself in her flesh.

Move, girl. Move or die.

Can't! It hurts!

Pain is weakness leaving the body. Now move, or you are gunned down. Like your mother. Like your sister. Like...

"NO!", cried the Crimson Avenger, the edge in her voice made sharp by her pain. She changed course, heading for the man that had shot her, grabbing his pistol arm by the wrist. She threw a closed-fist strike into the man's throat, and followed that into a vicious elbow strike on his forearm, aiming to break the bone and render him useless. Her other hand controlled the gun, and would grab it if he relinquished his grip.