(no subject)

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon knows the sound of those rotors. It's doubtful he'll forget it as long as he lives. Those are gunship rotors, at least one, possibly two. So he's understandably skittish as he hedges up to the mine exit and peers out. The all-too-familiar shape of a Strider is lumbering along an elevated roadway in the distance, followed by tiny moving specks that might be Overwatch or might be Elites, and that not-quite-British woman's voice echoes from speakers somewhere out of sight:

"All autonomous units: Accept mandatory sector assimilation. Coordinated constriction underway. Debride and cauterize. Entering phase nine, enhanced compliance. Deploy advisory control and oversight. Submit and be subsumed."

... this can't end well.

Comments

[acts_of_gord]

"You treat me like a human being," Gordon says simply. "Not a legend, or a suit and a crowbar, or- whatever. And you're intelligent, and attractive, and scientifically minded, and compassionate, and- I don't know, all kinds of things. Why shouldn't I?"

[vance_prime]

Her smile turns wry. "Do we really need to have the 'you could have women lining up to sleep with you' conversation again?"

[acts_of_gord]

"No, I think I'm good. And you're the only woman I'm interested in sleeping with, anyway." He rubs his face again. "We can hash it out later, though. I believe we've got a base to get to. Can I have my glasses back?"

[vance_prime]

--oh, right. They're still sitting in her lap; she'd forgotten about them completely. She hands them over, looking a little sheepish.

[acts_of_gord]

"Thanks," Gordon says, sliding them back into place. "Now, let's go find that detour. You'll have to point me in the right direction..."