Above in the sky, Wildcard’s helicopter decelerated in close proximity to the Ares gunship, ushered to speed by a Great-Form Guidance spirit that Schwartzkopf had left bound to the helicopter with one service. Bomb-headed icons appeared on every monitor as TwoDee breezed into the helicopter’s systems.
“Heeeey, it’s the guy from the Christmas party,” laughed TwoDee. “What’s up!?”
Wildcard noticed that, despite the jovial tone, the gunship had achieved a missile lock in a matter of microseconds.
“Just trying to save Dervish, is all,” said Wildcard, curtly.
“Funny, because you just stepped into Ares jurisdiction, given a stipulating clause in the loan contract to the Museum of Science and Industry,” giggled TwoDee, “so how about you sit this one out?”
“No can do,” said Wildcard, as he glanced back at Locke, nervous.
TwoDee audibly pondered this, making “mmmmm” thinking noises.
“Tell you what, replacement,” said TwoDee, as the gunship settled onto the roof and deployed a vanguard of four men in Firewatch milspec and two modified-to-hell Steel Lynxes, “I’ll race ya. You like races, right?”
Wildcard remained silent as TwoDee continued, this time over the local AR,
“SHOOT EVERYTHING THAT MOVES, GENTLEMEN! FIRST ONE TO DERVISH GETS THE PRIZE!”
As Wildcard’s systems were returned to him, he pulled out into the airspace over the river, and immediately hailed Bend and Dervish.
“Ditch th’ package, you two! Ares is after you!”
Downstairs in the main hall, Dervish regarded the panicking kangaroo at his heels as he dropped the headless body of a Ginsen merc.
“That’s the problem; we already did.”
“Well, where the fuck is it, then!?”
A flying aztec shaman in full eagle warrior regalia blasted out of the roof, arcing over the Ares gunship.