You pick up a cop in less than a half hour and barely manage to stay ahead of him for a few miles. Before he can call in backup, you drop onto another side road and kill your lights, losing him and reemerging having lost only a few minutes. You accelerate back up to maximum speed, not slowing down until—after two hours of high-speed driving—you turn off an unlabeled side road and race for your target, the Pelican case bouncing on the passenger seat next to your duffel bag.
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You brake hard when the asphalt suddenly vanishes beneath your wheels, leaving you on a dirt path illuminated by starlight. You weren't exactly expecting a whole secret airport, but there's barely even an airstrip ahead of you: just a patch of hard-packed earth surrounded by jagged rocks in one direction and scraggly shrubs in the other.
As you drift to a halt, you hear a buzzing whine overhead. You lean out the window and spot a small twin-engined light aircraft just as it comes in for a landing. It bounces once, twice, and starts to slow down. You step on the gas, moving to come up alongside the plane once it stops and hand off the parcel as quickly as you can.
You're feeling confident—then the floodlights hit you.
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A half dozen black Buick Avenirs are now visible not far from your position. One SUV has a lightstrip on its roof, which illuminates the airplane and catches your Mitsubishi at the edge of its light.
The FBI's Special Affairs Division is here.
You're just getting ready to roll backward when shots ring out. You duck, but they're not shooting at you.
Three wolves rush the SUV closest to the shrubs. One beast smashes right through the passenger window; a moment later blood sprays all over the inside of the windshield. It takes you a moment to recognize them as Kindred—and probably Anarchs.
Well, at least it's not werewolves.
As the wolf-Gangrel swarm out of the devastated SUV, more appear from the darkness and rush the Inquisition on ATVs. Armed with old rifles or cheap submachine guns, they open fire with wild abandon, laughing even when they get hit—what's a gunshot and a fall to the Kindred?
The ATVs throw up a cloud of dust that obscures the battle. You're not sure what the Gangrel are doing here, but as the battle erupts, you have a clear path to the airplane. The pilot is visible now, illuminated in the open side door.
Just before you can roll forward, a dark blue 1963 Ford Fairlane roars past you, heading for the plane. Its driver is visible only for a moment in silhouette—you catch a glimpse of a French braid and a heavy, hulking physique—but the federal agents with guns remain visible in the glow of the floodlight.
The airplane rolls forward, getting ready to take off—but the side door remains open. You can throw the parcel in if you can just get close enough. Dust from the ATVs swirls around the runway.
So it's a race then. You need to get this parcel to that airplane before those agents shoot the pilot to shreds. And you're doing it while Gangrel Anarchs rip into the FBI.
You gun the engine.
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Even as you start to move, you analyze the field ahead of you. The raging battle to your right isn't actually your problem—whoever wins, Gangrel or the Second Inquisition, they won't be able to interfere before the plane takes off.
The twin-engine is moving faster now, its running lights and the glowing, rounded rectangle of its open door barely visible through the swirling dust. With the Fairlane in the way, there's no clear path where you can just accelerate hard and get close enough to throw the parcel. The path ahead is rough—dangerously rough at one point, where there's a large bump in the road that you'd hesitate to go over even in an old Ford.
It is, you realize as you steer toward it, a very large bump. More like a dirt ramp, actually. But you don't have time to think, only to accelerate. You gun the engine as the agents in the Fairlane shoot at you, then hit the bump and fly through the air—right over the Fairlane!
That wasn't part of the plan!
You bounce back down to the ground right next to the Fairlane. Sparks fly, and your Mitsubishi screams in protest as you desperately try to hold on. You bounce into the Fairlane, ripping off your driver-side mirror.
The Fairlane's driver flinches and veers off, and suddenly your battered Mitsubishi is clear! A few agents shoot at you, but they don't hit anything. You accelerate so you're alongside the prop plane. You grab the Pelican case and fling it through the door.
The airplane lifts off; you spin the Mitsubishi around, blasting gravel, and get off the strip, racing past shrubs and scrabbly trees with your lights off as the Gangrel/FBI battle rages behind you.
But no one follows you, and after a few minutes you slow down.
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