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As Abrams ran he heard a shot ring out. Then another. Then another. They were all perfectly timed, careful shots.
SNIPER. 10 O'CLOCK.
Abrams glanced up and a green reticle highlighted his would-be savior atop a building. A scorching hot plasma bolt lanced out from his sophisticated sniper rifle and took down another... what the heck were they? Zombies. Abrams was going with zombies. Blood atomized into the air, finely coating everything nearby.
"Ah! Thank you, my friend!" he called up to the man.
'I could use an extra adrenaline boost, Consensus,' he mentally ordered to the AI in his brain.
He mentally waived the plethora of warnings away. A moment later he felt a slightly sickening rush of energy. He cut through an alleyway, up another street, scaled a wall, and before he knew it he was halfway up the stairs to meet the man who'd saved him.
At that point the last of the adrenaline wore off and he fell to one knee, gasping for breath as if no amount could ever be enough. His joints screamed at him. Just returning to an upright position required a monumental effort of will. Slowly he resumed his ascent to the roof.