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You wheel on the would-be ambushers.
Smaller, triangle-shaped cockpits. RPT-1R Raptors. Their lack of arms is an affront to sensible design.
There is nothing wrong with their weapons, though, high-energy lasers drawing patterns on you while missiles erupt from the launchers to exploit your weakness.
You lunge towards the nearest, beginning the dance of avoiding the aiming of their fire once more, but-
The turrets on the walls, the secondary batteries of the Highlanders, the positioning of the Raptors.
There’s too much. Time slows while you try to find the clean path through to take a minimal amount of damage.
Half a hundred potential routes are charted and discarded as infeasible.
You can feel the pain already.
Fine, then. Time to burn some resources.
A signal to the Yi accelerators travels along your legs and arms.
Power follows to the limbs. The body moves in that frozen world, taking three and a half steps towards the nearest Raptor, and places one finger into the cockpit of said Raptor.
Time resumes, cracks and booms and sizzles assaulting your audio sensors.
Everything is tingly, like pins and needles. A little warm, a little hot.
Your head bangs back against the seat, jolting you from the reverie.
There’s someone yelling at you, saying words.
No, you’re not sorry. It’s always a rough ride.
Highlander main weapons have cycled, Push to the right just as a spike flies by.
Much as you would Like to silence those, the Raptors still have priority.
The next nearest takes a full Sunburst pulse on the approach, and the cloaking panels sputter and fizzle before you rake it apart with your hands, putting it down for good. And then another presents itself. And another! You chase, ducking between buildings and racing through roads to catch them.
The next, where’s the next? Find more targets, more kills!
