[i]Wilson simply moves forward. Shells, laser beams, and plasma seem to do nothing to his armor as he moves effortlessly through the hordes of law enforcement. His MG3 had finally run out of ammo, and rather than a new belt, he holstered it, and drew his shotgun. The Browning on his shoulder continued to pound away, barrel growing red. More and more fell to him, blood splattering his armor. Those that got too close received a shotgun blast to the face, ripping their face apart. Occasionally, he swung with his left hand, the impact of his metal-encased fist damaging internal organs, his Tesla shield killing via electrocution. [/i]