There is a district in Tel Aviv populated almost entirely by warehouses and industrial buildings - a strange, modern patch of architecture in a city otherwise rooted firmly in some other decade, some other century. In that district there is a warehouse where a drop is being botched and a fire is being set by an accidental bullet sent into an accidental barrel with some kind of gas that sparks and then burns so hot the metal explodes outward. It sends a storm of shards tearing through the largely aluminum open car door that Charlie is taking cover behind. It punches through metal and skin with a 'ding, thck' noise and he staggers briefly. Scrabbles at the door ledge and the window crank more out of instinct than for any real purpose.

"Aw, shit!" he shouts, ducking his head. There's blood, but when isn't there? He leans up into the window frame of the door. There used to be glass there, but it's been shot out. He fires a few shots of his own and one of the bastards on the other side of the warehouse snaps his head back and goes limp over a pile of cargo.