Chaos reigned. Ellen grabbed the barrel of the nearest gun, her hand glowing brightly. The metal deformed slightly, then melted like butter as the heat penetrated. The gunman screamed and flung the brand-hot remnant of his weapon away.
Two of his allies were at arm's length, too close to use their SMGs effectively against her. It was the only reason they didn't hose her down on the spot. She grabbed one by the throat, heedless of the sizzling noise, the smoke, or the stench of burned flesh, and threw him the length of the rooftop. He crashed to the surface and didn't move.
Ellen turned back toward his companion--to find him pointing a handgun at her head. Before she could react or he could pull the trigger, he gave a yelp of surprise and disappeared through a circular hole in the floor at his feet.
His cry of surprise turned into a wail of terror--from farther away. Ellen saw the gunman fall through another hole in midair yards above the level of the rooftop--but not over it. His scream followed him past the edge of the rooftop and down toward the pavement many stories below.
The hole in the rooftop vanished. Ellen glanced back, but couldn't tell which of the fight club participants had saved her.
She saw the winged woman, Angelica, erupt into flame and launch herself from the rooftop on a column of fire like a rocket. The blue-skinned man roared and pummeled one of the armed guards.
Two of the gunmen stood back to back, firing rapidly but professionally. Half a dozen combatants went down, killed before they could reach the gunmen. Others froze, or ran for cover behind the stairwell structure or the various industrial fixtures--ventilation and plumbing units--scattered across the rooftop.
Ellen saw Sam soar up into sight, carrying the gunman who'd been portaled away from the rooftop. Sam dumped him onto the rooftop. The man bounced, rolled, and came to a halt, shaken, unarmed and thoroughly battered--but alive. It was more than he deserved.