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"Hold on tight, Minna," you say, completely serious. Like everything mechanical, loud, fast and hated by conscientious mothers, you immediately love the motorcycle, and feel an instant kinship with it. Twisting the throttle viciously, you pop a wheelie leaving the hangar, roaring past the pureed remains of the Martian maser crew. When your front wheel comes down again you lean into a steep turn to circle the castle and approach the dormitory wing, gunning the engine for even more power to keep the rear wheel digging for traction. Straightening, you unleash the obviously modified engine, reveling in the deep, mean, throaty roar. Minna hangs on for dear life, her arms tight around your waist and her face pressed into your back.
You don't mind that, not one bit.
Rounding the side of the building, you find the entire eastern side of the island engulfed in the flames of war. Men with rifles and submachine guns lurk behind bushes or crouch behind rocks, popping up to fire now and then. From the shore-side of the island come Martian fire, screeching rockets and and the occasional maser or heat-ray beam lighting up the sky.
"Ten O'Clock!" Minna shouts, and looking, you see Sakamoto crouching behind a low stone wall near the area you saw the Witches using for outdoor training the day previous. Roaring towards it, you turn the bike sideways and halt yourself with a completely unnecessary, showy skid.
God DAMN you love fast stuff.
"Sakamoto, you magnificent thieving bitch hot DAMN!" you exclaim. "What now?"
Sakamoto shoves on Minna's back, forcing you up onto the fuel tank a bit, then sits on the scant seat thus cleared. "NO TIME!" she bellows. "THE SHIP, DRIVE!"
"No rush, they're not going anywhere," you say. As if on cue, you hear the chatter of automatic fire from the sky as Miyafuji and Erica begin their strafing runs.
"Oh," she says, mollified. "Well, they're pinned, then. What now?"