Hunds are pack animals by nature. We like public transportation. It makes sense to us. Very few of us even own cars. But I had to admit that when I saw Sally's ride I started to drool a bit. If this was just one of her vehicles, and not even her favorite, I couldn't imagine what other treasures were lurking in her garage.

It was jet black, of course, with high output quad electric motors and oversized airless racing tires that had contact patches the size of an alcoholic's beer gut. It was up-armored with ceramic panels and bullet resistant windows. The cabin itself was reinforced to prevent crushing.

I let out a low whistle of appreciation. Between the simple lines and wedge-like shape it looked like the offspring of a race car that had been hate fucked by an angry doorstop. It was ugly, and I loved it.

"I call shotgun." Gershwin said as he reached into my duffle and pulled out a pistol grip pump. He racked a shell into the chamber and engaged the safety. "Got any extra rounds for your dear father?"

I handed him a box of low recoil eight pellet buckshot. "The spread is about hand sized at twenty paces, hund sized at fifty. I'd suggest aiming for the legs or face if your target is wearing body armor."

"Noted." Gershwin said as he slung the shotgun across his chest. "What will you be using?"

I reached into the duffle and produced a short barreled carbine with the stock folded to the left side. "Just a basic paratrooper rig, for now. I'll see what our friends have cooked up before I make any permanent decisions."

The G44 paratrooper smart carbine was what I had carried as a commando and it was perfect for urban environments as well as getting in and out of vehicles. It fired a small diameter bullet capable of defeating most body armor and had relatively low recoil. Unfortunately that meant it didn't do as much soft tissue damage as something higher caliber, but with a cyclic rate of over two thousand rounds per minute in burst mode it was still a fucking buzzsaw.

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It also natively paired with my wetware which gave me some interesting options if things got nasty. But hopefully things wouldn't come to that. All we were doing today was collecting our gear and doing some reconnaissance. Or at least that's what I had thought at the time.

The problem was that my mind had been poisoned by victory. I had assumed that since I had gotten the drop on the Bone Syndicate once that they were stupid. A simple sanity check would have reminded me that someone like Ruhern didn't build an empire on carelessness. There was a reason they had been successful.

Gershwin climbed up on the hood of the car and posed like a supermodel. His long dark gray synthetic silk coat draped over his black and gold isolation rig like a shroud. "How do I look?" He asked.

"Better than ever." I said.

He hopped down and gave me a pat on the shoulder. "You're a good son. Have I told you that I love you today?"

I shook my head.

"Well, then." He gave me a hug, the shotgun slung across his chest pressing against my body armor. "I love you very much."

I returned the hug happily. "I love you too, father."

Sally pretended to vomit. "Come on you too softies, we've got a time table to keep."

"Nope." Gershwin said, still holding the hug. "Until a few days ago thought I would never see my son again and I'm going to make the most of every precious moment we have together. Some things should not be rushed."

We separated eventually. Gershwin turned to Sally with open arms. "Your turn now." He sprinted and wrapped his arms around her before she could protest. "I'm so happy we got a chance to meet again." He said. "I'm so proud of what you have done with your life and how strong you have become. I knew the moment I saw you that you were something special."

She struggled briefly but returned the embrace. "Thank you." She said, awkwardly shifting to try and hug Gershwin's much smaller Katzen form. "I missed you too."