The chase had led to this: a lost corner of the sewer system, humid and dripping, Amanda Drake holding her gun to Sal's head, Detective Henna Joston's gun pointed directly at Drake's head. Shoving her pistol painfully into Sal's temple, Drake shouted, "Drop it!"
Joston shook her head. "You know I can't do that, Drake. Let 'em go, and we can talk."
"Not a chance! I'm safe as long as I have 'em."
"Yeah?" Henna cracked her neck with menace. "How do you know I can't drill you in the eye no matter how close you hold 'em?"
"I don't." Drake forced the words out through gritted teeth. "How do you know I won't have time to blow their brains out if you try it?"
Henna grimaced. "I don't." The two of them shared stares that, if anthropomorphized, would be having really angry sex.
"Hey!" Sal's shout broke the mounting tension. "How do you both know I can't teleport away?" The nemeses looked at her, then each other, perplexion on their faces. They stared at her, a frankly uncertain stare, waiting.
"Just kidding!" Sal said. "I can't do that." Grabbing Drake's wrist, Sal flipped her and kicked the gun away.