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Thrilling Tales of the Downright Unusual
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Enlarge: Bonnie Scarlet swashes her buckler, metaphorically speaking

Naturally enough, this wasn't Bonnie's first mob. Not by a long ways. She was racing ahead of them, it's true, but her mind and her eyes were on other things. Distract, or Delay, or Divide, she repeated to herself: her three D's of Mob Management. Distraction, now, was unlikely. It'd take the Revenge itself, swooping down with its death rays blazing, to take their minds off her. Delay, on the other hand, was a possibility, and she hadn't given up on Divide, either.

So it was with some satisfaction that she saw an approaching cargo sled hovering over the street ahead of her. As she closed on it, Bonnie pulled out a grappling charge for her pistol and slotted the cumbersome missile into place. She fired - the sled was nearly overhead now - and quickly wrapped the charge's line around her ribs.

The grappling charge struck the hovering sled and at once began to draw her upward. Her weight overbalanced the hovercar, which began to tip even as she started her practiced swing at the end of the line: she'd swung way out ahead by the time the sled's cargo of large, heavy boxes began to tumble overboard to the street below. At the end of her swing, Bonnie let go of the line and flew forward, only to hit the ground running a good thirty yards from where she'd started. She chanced a look behind her: the Patrolmen had scattered widely, avoiding the rain of boxes and losing even more ground.

Ha! Distraction after all, with a big helping of Delay to boot. Her own boots pounded rapidly, and she turned another corne

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