Peggy tensed, the aim of her gun shifting toward the cloud of metal as it formed. She didn't understand; she didn't need to understand, as long as she was ready to shoot, ready to duck, ready to act as the situation warranted. But nothing more happened, and the blades fell to the ground again.

Peggy waited a few seconds, alert for any further movement, either from mysteriously flying bits of metal or from the open door. But the metal remained inert and she saw no sign that the wounded man was wrong and the door might disgorge -- but she hadn't the slightest notion what that door might disgorge. She waited a few extra seconds on that thought, but when there was still nothing, she let out her breath and pushed the cart a few inches with her foot. She'd take the slightly better view, even with the trade-off of being slightly more exposed.

"You'll still want to get it looked at," Peggy said to the wounded man with a slight roll of her eyes for the tendency of men to downplay their wounds. The Howlers did that too.

"Are those yours?" she asked of the shards of metal on the floor. She might not know what was going on, but they'd hovered around him, so it seemed like a reasonable guess.