Broken Angels

"I walked in firing.
The guns, the interface guns, like rage extended in both hands. Biofeed from the palm plates gave me the detail. high impact, fragmentation load, magazines full to capacity. The vision I had, outside my fury, found structure in the writhing thing before me and the Kalashnikovs punched solid fire at it. The biofeed put my aim in place with micrometer precision.
Lengths of cable chopped and jumped, dropping to the sand and flopping like landed fish.
I emptied both guns.
They spat out their magazines and gaped open eagerly. I pounded the buts against my chest. The harness loader delivered, the gun buts sucked the fresh clips in with slick magnetic clicks. Heavy again, my hands whipped out, left and right, seeking,sighting.
The killing cables were gone, chopped off. The others surged at me through the sand and died, cut to pieces like vegetables under a chef's knife,
I emptied again.
Reloaded.
Emptied.
Reloaded.
Emptied.
Reloaded.
Emptied.
Reloaded.
Emptied.
And beat my chest repeatedly, not hearing as the harness clicked empty at me."