“What!?“

“No shit, someone just bombed One Shell Square. Drop that rating-happy crybaby story and get your ass there now.”

“Red, you copy that?”

“Already there, Kent,” she said. I saw her emerge from the children’s hospital at a sprint, her cybernetic leg effortlessly powering her long strides. I cycled the hatch shut and hot-dogged the throttle as soon as she was aboard.

I swiveled the VTOL and shot it south. Across the city, I could see a plume of smoke curling into the sky. Red was hanging on for her life while trying to shrug on her bullet-proof vest.

“Get the drone primed, Red,” I barked over my shoulder. “We’re going to drop it as soon as we get there. We’re on voice-over only until the situation’s clear.”

We were approaching the building now. I keyed on the VTOL ’s mounted cameras. Pandemonium in the streets. Flames licked out from shattered windows on the 35th floor, west side. I brought us in close, and the VTOL shook as the drone dropped free.

“This is Breida McKinney, reporting live…”