A streak of golden fire crossed the deep blue of the Nevada sky. Thunder rumbled in the wake of her passage, a high altitude sonic boom. A vapor trail followed her like that of a jet.
Majestic had been briefed. She knew what to expect. Mindless hordes. Bloodthirsty monsters of the worst kind. The human kind. Blue eyes swept the city of sin for sinners.
There.
Casino tower roofs, covered in panting, painting hordes. Mindless savagery. Butchery. They threw their victims from the rooftop to splatter against the asphalt, like bloody paintballs against a black canvas. They laughed.
She didn't laugh. She screamed in at mach three, windows shaking with the force of her passage. Throttle down. She slowed. Mach two. Mach one. Three hundred. One fifty. Seventy five.
Python turn. Gliding in a circle around the rooftop she extended a fist.
It glowed. Golden. Bright as the sun. A lance of fire punched through a sinners skull. Vaporized. It hit the sinner behind him in the abdomen. Super-heated body fluids exploded. A knee behind him was snipped in half. Cauterized.
They screamed and spit and threw bottles, wrenches and screwdrivers, folding knives, purses and their own bodies. But she had too much altitude. They all fell short.
And she circled and fired and circled and fired and circled and fired and they died and died and died until the roof was a patchwork quilt of corpses in blue overalls and black dresses and white tuxes and party clothes of every color under the rainbow.
Just normal people. Once.
She shook off the thought. On to the next one.
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