The street was a powder keg, and Sterling had just lit the fuse.
His Vanguard squad formed a perfect, gleaming silver line, their energy rifles a silent, deadly promise.
Jax, in the van, let out a string of creative, and probably physically impossible, curses.
Jinx's voice was a low, dangerous growl in Michael's ear. "I've got a clean shot on Sterling's head, kid. Just say the word."
"Negative, Jinx," Chloe's voice cut in, a block of solid ice. "Engaging The Vanguard here, with DGC patrols minutes away, is a tactical non-starter. We do not have the resources for a sustained firefight."
She was right, and Michael hated her for it.
He was trapped. Outgunned. Outmaneuvered.
This is what happens when you aggro two different factions at the same time, his inner monologue drawled wearily. The quest log gets messy.
