"He really always talks like that," South says, with an almost audible roll of her eyes. She's picking off enemy soldiers with more shotgun fire, until she runs out of ammo for it and ends up just beating a guy over the head with the butt of it. "It's possible he's fucking with all of us, though. Stickywicket?"

She doesn't struggle any without a weapon; South's always been a force of nature in a fight, she knows how to use momentum and her size to her advantage. Still, she grabs a discarded rifle at the next opportunity, as she rolls up onto her feet from a roll.

Just in time to send a burst of fire into a guy coming up on Wash's six, and then turn and slam her armoured boot into the head of a guy who thought that was an opportunity to catch her off-guard. It was not.

"Fucking hell, rookie, you look like you're about to keel over," she says, coming up at his side. She tries to peer around for sign of the enemy ship's approach, but never takes her attention off the fighting, either. She has no trouble picking off soldiers Wash is missing with his double-vision aim. "And your aim's gone to shit. Fuck, you aren't kidding—ugh, do we seriously need to call for extraction?"