That moment of reorienting herself is relatively short, but still feels like it lasts far, far too long: re-cataloguing the bedraggled blond as an enemy, as someone to be fought. As Maine surges forward, she sees the two men start landing blows on each other in the darkened space of the tunnels; yet the blunt blows of Thor's club (almost a warhammer, she thinks) seem to faze Maine not one whit. Each impact sounds like pummeled meat, and Brigitte wisely keeps herself clear from flying fists and bodies as they collide again, as "Thor" is slammed backwards once more and dazed. With the strength Maine can throw around, even the wall itself becomes a weapon, becomes a long flat plane to heave someone against. Crack skulls against.

Watch his back, she reminds herself, and she's spun on her heel to have her back to the fray, shield up just in time as another pair of attackers come swarming down the hall towards them, and she's pressing forward, each sharp jab of her shield another stun as she keeps them away.