I have these images in my head. I doubt I'll use them, but they are there on an endless feedback loop regardless. I don't think I'll be finishing my entry for the summer anthology in time, but if I do, this might be interesting. Anyways.

Lou lit her last cigarette. Put in her out-sized wallet years ago when she went inactive and joined the CHoIR, it was a promise to herself that there would always be a later, better time to finally and formally rid herself of the habit that claimed her father. 'I guess Daddy's little angel won't make all his mistakes after all,' she thought, her grim humor shaking loose a grin, despite it all. 'I can make brand new ones.'

Her office door took another blow, one hard enough to shake all her furniture. "Not long now," she murmured, taking a last drag. Lou firmly stubbed it out, and picked up her .50 caliber.

To her surprise, Lou was smiling. Widely even, not the half smirk of the damned. And why not? Her greatest fear was not death, but death from her own body's betrayal like that had felled her smoker father, diabetic mother, and ulcer plagued husband. When she left the marines, that secret nightmare had invaded her waking hours as well as her sleeping. But, judging from the furred claw that just managed to gain a grip on her cracking defiant door, she'd have nothing to worry about on that score. Under the circumstances, this positively cheered her.

So did sighting her rifle at the spot her sniper training said the were-whatever's head would be when it finally gianed access. "Semper fi," she breathed, "shithead."

Four seconds later, Lou's grin doubled. She'd guessed right.