((mood music: here))
The ever-present rainstorms of the grid rumbled with thunder as another gale rolled in from off of the outlands. A shadowy figure moved low, avoiding silhouetting itself on the skyline by keeping its outline obscured by rooftop things - venting, dishes, that sort of stuff - on its journey. It leaped from one roof to another as the rain continued to spray, wind whipping at the figure’s poncho/cloak, the circuits on the outer garment dimmed low as they could go, hood over a helmet for extra protection. Several similarly clad figures followed behind, one with a large cylinder on their back. They huddled at the corner of one rooftop, and the first figure raised a pair of magnifiers to eye level and peered through them. Lightning struck.
Flash. Silence. Then, seconds later, a loud rumble as the thunder hit. For a split second, two things were illuminated - the first figure’s face, and a wing of Recognizers and lightcopters. The scarred countenance was hidden again by the returning darkness, and she nodded to the others - the third program unslung the tube from their back, all three figures looking somewhat alike now. With a series of metallic clicks, the tube extended longer and had a set of grips emerge, along with a viewfinder.
Maia stared through the binoculars. “Wait for it... Wait for it.... Aim for the second one, not the first...” she muttered over their encrypted comms. As the Recognizers approached the building, travelling past it up and to the northwest, there was a soft beeping in the cockpit of the second recognizer. Maia waited for the signal from her cell’s commanding officer to ping her... and then she chopped her hand, rotating at the wrist slightly to indicate it was time to get to work.
“Warning, LOCK DETE-“
A brilliant explosion lit up the night, one leg of the recognizer blown off completely, the crippled vehicle cartwheeling to destruction . Immediately the two programs without launchers leapt off the building and lit up their batons into lightjets, commandeered Guard models, trails igniting as they suddenly crested the next set of buildings and headed straight for the convoy to sow chaos. Bartik had died, yes, and that was a shame, but news of Flynn’s return had spread like gridfire, and they knew that they had to do everything they could to derail CLU’s plan - whatever it was - for Flynn’s plan - again, whatever it was - to work. It was a long shot, but it was their only chance...
