[Bingo. For an android who claims to feel nothing, 60 sure is emotional. Connor manages to move out of the way before the gunshot proves to be fatal, firing his own weapon at 60. A graze on his shoulder... a small amount of thirium starts to stain his jacket.]

So you have a plan? It doesn't seem like you do.

[It seems like they're both just winging it at this point. And they'll only have so many bullets, so this could last a while... or until they can't move any more.]