The Chief caught a motion in his peripheral vision: An Elite in jet-black armor materialized from the wall display, its light-bending camouflage dissolving. It strode toward the Chief, roaring a challenge. The Chief's rifle snapped up, and he squeezed the trigger. Three rounds spat from the muzzle, then the bolt locked open. The ammo counter read 00-empty. The shots flared on the Elite's shielding; a lucky round penetrated and deformed its shoulder. Purple-black blood spattered on the deck, but it shrugged off the wound and kept
coming.
Haverson charged into the room and leveled his pistol. "Hold it!" he yelled, and thumbed off the weapon's safety. The Elite drew a plasma pistol and fired at the Lieutenant- but never took its eyes off the Chief. Haverson cursed and scrambled out of the room as the plasma charge slashed at him.
The Chief altered his grip on the rifle and crouched in a low fighting stance. Even with the shield malfunction, he was confident he could take a single Elite.-Chpt.8 pg.91
