River works in a frenzy, etching bullets as fast as she can without sacrificing accuracy. Each half-done runic design is set aside facing the forge, to absorb its energy; even a quick glance can show the way the odd etchings first reflect the light, then start to glow with their own.

The siege isn't long, but these beasts are falling everywhere...and disorganized. The gun is a blessing and a curse. Watson's got the range on them, but the sound sure keeps drawing more in.

"Times like this I wish arson was a more constrained solution than it is," River bitches, in the manner of soldiers. "Or that I had the time to build some of those damn Defectors, I could really use five rounds per second right about now."