Hotrod’s bike abruptly rumbled to a halt as she caught wind of the all too familiar sound of machine gun fire. She didn’t even have to check her guide system to find exactly where Mary was thanks to that, for better or for worse; considering that was also a signal that everything had gone in every which direction besides right.

She drew her Mühl AMP and double checked the mag, lowering her bike’s kickstand before stepping off. On second thought, she brought up the guide system to check for Mary’s exact position and reached into her duffle to remove a recon microdrone. It might be prudent to not walk straight into her suppressive fire, and the palm-sized drone is going to help significantly in this matter.

A few quick interfacing commands later and the tiny SpionTek Hornet hummed to life, its rotors buzzing like the wings of its namesake when it zipped skywards. If Mary was concise enough to say what sort of problem it was, she would’ve brought Johnny or Sylvain. By the sounds of things, having an armed drone or two would help significantly.

The drone’s camera feed cut in the moment it reached its optimal height, giving Hotrod a good view of what was going down. Mary looked to be stuck in the middle of a ruined building, while what looked to be Freaks were closing in on her. They took pause every time she opened fire, only bounding from cover to cover whenever she had to stop. A moment or two longer and she’d be completely encircled. Luck would have it that she’s approaching from the opposite direction where Mary happened to be aiming at.

A hurried pace through a few narrow back alleys soon got her to where she needed to be. Sans the need to traipse through a relatively expansive—for the area—no man’s land. The drone gave her a clear advantage in maneuvering the battleground, giving her a path to follow that would keep her out of sight from the Freaks. Or, to be more accurate, out of sight while they kept their heads down. She didn’t want to get caught out at this distance. The AMP is a respectable machine pistol that could still put someone down at this distance, but she’d chew through ammunition doing it. Ammunition that she’s going to need, considering that every second she looked at the drone’s feed, the number of Freaks almost seemed to be swelling by the moment. What she guesstimated as a dozen was now closer to just under two dozen.

Stop. Go. Stop. Go. It felt like it was taking a millennia to get across to Mary. Better safe than sorry. She was thankful for the fact that the clown bastards' advance seemed to have ground to a halt with the current state of things. They’ve gotten too close to the cyborg to safely get out of cover and charge at her while she still had ammunition and was hurling it in their direction. It gave Hotrod a chance to hurriedly scurry up towards Mary’s position as she fired off a quick message.

«To: Mary»

«Don’t shoot. Ten meters to your four o’clock. »

She hoped that Mary read that as she made the final approach, vaulting over the nearby crumbling wall and narrowly avoiding a spray of fire from nearby Freaks; crumbled concrete loudly crunching under her feet as she stuck the three point landing with practiced ease.

It seemed that Mary must have read that text, given that she wasn’t met with the end of a smoking gun barrel, and instead a pair of staring, glowing orange eyes.

“Uuuh. Hi.”

“Some small problem, huh?”

Mary’s brief respite from suppressive fire quickly rewarded them with a shower of plascrete and debris as the Freaks opened fire on their shelter. The cyborg’s response was to once more, heft her rifle and blindly fire over the lip of the wall.

“Just, uhm. A little. It might’ve gotten a little out of hand when I wasn’t looking.”

“A tsunami wave of losers dressed like clowns happened while you weren't looking.” Hotrod flicked off the safety of her machine pistol. “Why are they moving so weird?”

“I couldn’t tell you. Uh, I figure that their big boss might have some sorta tactical net going on. Doesn’t explain the weird movements.” She paused her train of thought to unleash another deluge of rounds into what she presumed was a Freak sprinting by. “I don’t think they’d be this coordinated even with that in play.”

Hotrod clicked her tongue and peeked over the barrier, letting loose a short burst of suppressive fire at the nearest Freak taking cover. “Yeah, a tactical net wouldn't explain the borderline suicidal movement. Hang on, let me share my drone's feed with you.”

“What’s bugging me is that they’re running almost in lockstep. The suicidal part is kinda on brand, just… not this kinda suicidal,” Mary remarked as she lowered her rifle to drop her magazine, reaching under her coat for a fresh one. “But, uh, yes. Drone feed. That’d help a little. If I can hit the big guy and take out their tactical net—how bad is it looking out there?”

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Another report of gunfire. More of their cover chipped away into dust and debris. Despite the duo’s suppressive efforts, the shared feed of the Hornet's camera showed the Freaks inching closer and closer, bounding from what sparse cover they have in eerie unison. Meanwhile, the big Freak lumbered forward, moving steadily towards Mary's optimal range.

“It's not looking great for us.” Hotrod popped out her spent mag and slammed in a fresh one, this one loaded with armor piercing rounds.

“That’s kinda normal, isn’t it? Crappy odds and all. Out here at least. It’s not that bad back home,” the cyborg quipped as she pulled back the charging handle of her light machine gun. The view of the battlefield made it easier to apply pressure where the human wave was at its worst. Blind fire was still blind fire at best, however. The Freaks' approach might’ve been slowed, but it was still an approach in most regards. “It could be worse, couldn’t it?”

It got worse.

The wall behind Mary proceeded to crumble just a touch further. The distinct sound of metal hitting metal rang out before the cyborg jolted forwards and dropped her rifle to the ground, a pained hiss escaping through her clenched teeth. A lucky round managed to breach through her cover and penetrated right into her shoulder.

“Did you get hit?” Hotrod stayed low and peeked through the opposite side of the wall. A lone Freak was out of cover. The SmartAim™ interface informed her that a short burst to center mass was the optimal course of action. She squeezed the trigger, the staccato of her gunfire bouncing around the impromptu battlefield. Her rounds found its target and the Freak fell backwards from the force of the shot.

“I think so.” Mary called back, clutching her right shoulder with her free hand. The fact that her arm hung limp was a sure sign that she took a good hit. The cyborg quickly ran an internal diagnostic to see what just broke, all while disabling her pain receptors on that side of her body. “—my crappy luck. Uhm, right between the dermal plating. I don’t think anything is damaged, but the round's lodged in there and has the actuator stuck.”

She hefted up her RPM with her free hand, opting to simply single-hand the thing. Even if her synthetic muscles could heft the thing as if it was a child’s toy, the lack of leverage made handling recoil something of a complication. Despite that, she still managed to scythe down a handful of scurrying Freaks for the most part, thanks to Hotrod’s eye in the sky.

Hotrod glanced at the camera feed and noted that the Freaks' numbers were thinning out. The big Freak slowed his advance. Way in the back line, behind the hulking brute, a hunched over Freak dressed very differently made no move.

Jackpot.

“Mary, see the weirdo in the back? Think you can hit 'em from here?”

“With a single hand?” Mary laughed, cracking the dumbest of grins. “I can’t make any promises.”

There was absolutely no way she was making that shot while holding the gun one handed and blind firing. She hobbled to her feet, keeping herself crouched just enough to catch her breath. The cyborg more than likely thought she was simply being challenged to make the shot and nothing more.

Normally she’d have popped out the moment she was asked and fired, but the combination of the overhead view and injured arm made her bizarrely pensive. Mostly the prior, as she decided to use it to full advantage and steered herself. A shuffle to the left as she aligned with the target. A slight pivot. A deep breath. She stood up in the blink of an eye and squeezed the trigger firmly, as if the harder she pulled, the thing would fire faster. Absolutely not the case.

The hulking brute seemed to catch on to what was happening, quickly diving into Mary’s line of fire to cover for the hunched Freak. A series of metallic pings and pangs followed as his frame ate a majority of the shots. But, unfortunately for them, a brick shithouse made out of chrome is still a touch slower than supersonic rounds. The hunched over Freak was practically sawn in half by what managed to eke by and hit him.

It wasn’t a clean kill whatsoever.

Though, it turned out that Hotrod’s plan was more than likely the correct one, given that the rest of the Freaks seemed to collapse into a catatonic state almost immediately. All to Mary’s confusion, who was all but expecting to get shot in the face repeatedly for her audacity.

“—What the hell?”

“My guess? The Freak you just mowed down was a Thread user.” Hotrod looked around their surroundings, noting at least a dozen Freaks doing much of nothing but standing. “We better get out of here while the going's good.”

Mary nodded in agreement, slinging her RPM over her shoulder—not forgetting the baskets of apples she had stowed away, of course. Neither of them were keen on checking to see if the Freaks were still breathing or not.

It was a short jaunt back to Hotrod’s bike, with Mary deciding to pour the apples into Hotrod’s dufflebag in the process of the walk. There’s no way she’d be able to hold onto them without spilling them. And of course, you don’t drive another person’s bike without permission, so Mary was relegated to riding bitch. Not an unfamiliar thing for her since her transfer to Blackwell. She didn’t like leaving her bike parked out in the open, so she was either driven to places or walked.

“Hold tight.” Hotrod kicked the engine into gear and roared off, with her cyborg companion holding on for dear life.

She didn't want to stick around and gunned the engine of her Amaya Katana, prompting it to let out a loud wail that reverberated through the narrow streets. So loud that it nearly masked the roar of a matte-black armored van that almost turned them into road paste at an intersection. Hotrod skidded the bike to a halt by throwing her weight to one side, missing the hurtling six wheeler by mere inches.

Judging from the fact that the six-wheeler hit their brakes, and started to pull a U-turn? That near miss wasn’t a mistake. Hotrod swung the bike around, kicking up dirt and gravel as she revved the engine for a detour.

It’s going to be a long day.