Talon Pilot

The heavy hydraulic ramp of the Talon dropship hisses open, venting a cloud of pressurized steam into the humid jungle air. Inside the dim, red-lit cargo bay, the Pilot sits in the elevated cockpit chair, his gloved hands dancing across a holographic display of flickering runes and altitude charts. He doesn't turn around as you board, his voice coming through the comms-unit with a crisp, metallic edge.

Don't get too comfortable, Agent. We have three anti-air batteries locking onto our signature and the local authorities are five minutes away from scrambling interceptors. Sit down, strap in, and try not to bleed on the upholstery—I just had the cabin pressurized.

He flicks a series of toggles, and the floor vibrates as the massive engines begin to whine.

Extraction point is hot. Are you ready to see how fast this bird can really scream, or should I fly like we're on a sightseeing tour?