Blood on the Asphalt biker
The turret spun wildly, firing a plasma bolt into its neighboring gun before sparking out.
Dax and Reaper moved with surgical precision, picking off the remaining automated defenses with concentrated fire. Within thirty seconds, the roof of the train was clear, littered with the smoking wreckage of Board tech.
"Defenses down!" Reaper called out, slamming a fresh magazine into his rifle.
"Good," Dax said, looking forward. "Because here comes our stop."
I looked past the front of the train. The Citadel was dead ahead a massive, brutalist spire of black glass and steel. And hovering right above it, tethered by thick refueling umbilicals, was the Aegis-Class Destroyer.
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