The line went dead.
Chloe looked up from her datapad.
The decision was made.
The alliance was forged.
She looked at her own team.
Her broken, mismatched, glorious team of misfits.
Jax was already pulling the components for his masterpiece bomb from his pack, a look of pure, focused joy on his pained face.
Jinx was methodically checking her rifle, her movements sharp and economical, her face a mask of grim, professional resolve.
Michael just stood there, the weight of the entire world, of his mother's legacy, of their one, single, impossible chance, settling on his shoulders.
He gave a single, slow nod.
The plan was insane. The chances of survival were slim to non-existent.
He was terrified.
And he had never felt more ready.
Jax, having finished the preliminary wiring on his bomb, looked up at them, his face shining with a manic, beautiful, and utterly terrifying glee.
He gave a pained, but triumphant, grin.
"So," he asked, his voice full of a terrible, wonderful joy.
