Yellow earth and drought-resistant plants came into view, with huge pipes marked with numbers emerging like veins from the ground.
The industrial factory district and skyscrapers became distant.
They lurked in the gray sky, blending with the faded projection ads as background.
They were the same three black transport vehicles.
John's previous workplace liked to call them flathead toasts.
These things came with tactical-grade alloy armor, ordinary firepower couldn't penetrate them, with broadened explosion-resistant tires and a bunch of expensive systems, a fully armed team could jump out at any moment.
The three vehicles surrounded the target car in a pin formation.
John was wondering how to intercept them when he heard a loud whistling sound from behind.
"F*ck, are you guys carrying anti-tank missiles for work?"
He gripped the steering wheel, initiated the vision assist system, and the glass remained unaffected by the missile exhaust and smoke.
