Blood on the Asphalt biker
"And frankly, your future sucks. So we're canceling it."
Dax looked at the Iron Wolves, who had formed a semi-circle around the skylight, their modified bikes humming with latent power. Tank was revving his trike, a massive grin splitting his bruised face. Reaper had his rifle trained on the glass. Sienna was adjusting her armored gloves.
"Time's up," Dax said into the comms. "We're coming in."
He cut the audio feed.
"Mia," Dax said, stepping back from the center of the glass. "This smart-glass is rated to withstand a direct missile strike. Explosive rounds will just bounce off."