Blackout settled over Sanaro City like soot, cut only by emergency klaxons and heavy turbine rumbles. Nyssa stared down at the streets, knuckles white against the balcony rail. Corrado Veltis wasn't sending a team; he was sending an armada. “The Garren civilian sectors,” Nyssa breathed, her voice tight with a new, sharp fear. “They’ll be unprotected. They rely on our patrols, our early warnings. This… this is a full-spectrum assault.” She spun, her eyes locking onto Miro’s, a desperate calculation dawning in their depths. “We have to intercept the vanguard before it reaches the lower districts. The upper skyway is our fastest route.” Miro nodded, already jogging toward the coupe. “Right. Maximum efficiency. We’ll need to factor in traffic flow, potential detours, and optimal evasion patterns. And Nyssa, did you remember to pack the emergency road flares? They’re excellent for marking a disabled chassis, or, you know, a Veltis Maritime invasion.” Nyssa ignored the flares, dragging Tassio by his zip-tied wrists toward the modified coupe. He stumbled, sweat beading on his forehead. “You’re insane! They’ll tear us apart! You think that glorified composite shell can stand against Veltis heavy armor?” “It’s The Wraith, Tassio,” Nyssa corrected, shoving him into the back row. “And it’s our only chance. Get in, Miro.” She dropped into the passenger bucket, punching commands into the console. The twin turbos spun up with a deep, low rumble. Miro, however, hesitated at the driver’s side door. “Actually, Nyssa, with all due respect to your, ah, spirited driving, my professional experience might be more… suited to this particular scenario. My one-star rating is primarily due to my insistence on adherence to traffic laws, not a lack of vehicular proficiency. And avoiding impacts is rather crucial for a delivery professional.” Nyssa threw her hands up, teeth gritted against the ticking clock. “Fine! Just drive! And if you so much as flick an indicator before hitting a deserted skyway, I swear—” Miro was already in the driver’s seat, hands on the reinforced steering wheel. “My safety protocols dictate proper signaling, Nyssa. It minimizes risk for all road users, even during, shall we say, accelerated transit.” He dropped the clutch, and the coupe launched off the rooftop in an all-wheel drift. Active dampers soaked up the hard drop onto the access ramp while Miro threaded past crushed girders and smoking barricades toward the concrete pillars supporting the skyway. The elevated concrete ran four lanes wide above the grid. Broken sections of guardrail dropped off into black air, and stalled haulers blocked two lanes ahead. Wind sheared over the windshield, whistling through cracked seams in the chassis. Up ahead, three dots detached from the low-hanging, smoke-choked clouds. They grew rapidly, resolving into sleek, predatory shapes: Veltis Reaper drones, their undersides bristling with weapon pods. Their arrival was silent until their thrusters flared, a synchronized roar that tore through the night. “Reapers!” Nyssa yelled, her fingers flying across the weapon console. “They’re locking onto us! Multiple missile signatures!” Miro’s expression remained calm, almost serene. “Standard tactical drone deployment. Sub-optimal targeting solutions when operating at high velocity, unless supported by ground-based telemetry. Nyssa, prepare the countermeasures. I’m going to need you to time them with my route adjustments.” He clicked the amber indicator on. “Left lane merge in three… two… one.” Before Nyssa could yell, Miro yanked the steering column, clearing a sheared lamppost by two inches. A swarm of micro-missiles screamed through the patch of tarmac they had occupied half a heartbeat earlier, gouging black craters into the deck. Shockwaves slammed the chassis, but the reinforced plating held. “Did you just… flick an indicator at two hundred kilometers an hour?” Nyssa shouted over the turbine whine, triggering the dorsal flak array. Shrapnel bursts cracked across the sky behind them, chewing through the lead drone’s port wing. It yawed hard, trailing black fire, but stayed airborne. “Safety first, Nyssa. It’s about predictability,” Miro replied, checking his rearview. He toggled the right blinker. “Incoming from astern. Initiating reverse parallel stall in five… four… three…” Tassio choked on his tongue from the back row. “Parallel stall?! Miro, we’re forty meters in the air! What are you doing? Just floor it! Break the damn speed limit!” Miro slammed the transmission into R and pulled the handbrake. Tires shrieked, vulcanized rubber smoking as the chassis slid backward at eighty kilometers an hour. The two trailing Reapers overshot the roofline instantly. Miro spun the wheel lock-to-lock, whipping the tail around to tuck snugly against a shattered concrete divider. The tracking computers on the drones failed to recalibrate before the two units clipped wingtips, shearing fuselages and detonating their fuel reservoirs in an orange concussion. “See?” Miro clicked the shifter back into first gear. “Clean execution. Minimal collateral impact to other motorists, full consequence for tailgaters. My fuel efficiency is taking a hit, however.” Nyssa gripped the dash, chest heaving. Her secondary battery had already swatted the crippled third Reaper over the guardrail, sending it tumbling into the black canal below. Miro’s absurd driving had cleared the sky. “We cleared them,” she breathed, releasing the trigger assembly. Before she could catch her breath, a vast silhouette cut off the stars. A kilometers-wide hull broke through the cloud ceiling, black composite plating blotting out the sky: a Veltis Maritime command carrier. Blue tractor emitters ignited along its keel, pinning the coupe in a column of pressurized magnetic force. The suspension groaned, tires lifting off the cracked tarmac as the craft hauled them upward into its hangar bay.

Defensive Driving