"Understood!" Saturday hasn't truly gone beserk, although she is deep in the flow. The enemy reaches for her, grasping, but she's fresh and itching for a fight - has been for days now - and they are so, so slow compared to her. On a straight fight through a wide hall? No friggin contest.

She skewers a drone. Tacks suspended in some kind of putty glorp out over her blade.

"Take the left! I'll cover you!"

The drones chitter at her, surging forward and then back as if driven to fight against their will. Saturday snarls and holds them off.