The plumber's van was their chariot to the apocalypse.
Jax drove, his hands light on the wheel, his movements a symphony of controlled chaos. He weaved through the frantic, panicked traffic with the cheerful, reckless grace of a man who saw traffic laws as gentle suggestions rather than actual rules.
"Come on, people!" he yelled at a taxi that had cut him off. "There's a world to save! Use your blinkers!"
Jinx rode shotgun, a datapad in her lap displaying a live map of DGC roadblocks and Guild movements, courtesy of their eye in the sky.
"Hard left at the next intersection, Jax," she grunted, her eyes scanning the streets. "Vanguard convoy is blocking Madison."
"A hard left it is, my cynical co-pilot!" Jax chirped, yanking the wheel.
The van screeched around the corner on two wheels, its tires protesting loudly.
Michael was wedged in the back, trying not to throw up.
The city was a nightmare.
