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Three Hours Earlier...
You look out the back window. Chartered buses wind up the highway behind you. Their windows are tinted, but you know what is inside: an army.
"Pulling out all the stops," Tim Pope says, in the back seat next to you. The director of the Primatech Executive Services' Command Division looks bored. You left the airport hours ago.
"Too bad we don't know where we're going," Marie Dunn says from the front seat.
"Yes, we do," Jeremy Woo says. "The Kill Squad's headquarters. Latitude 60, longitude -139."
"60, -139 is empty Alaskan wilderness," Marie says. "You're just assuming that we'll find them in the nearest town."
"The Kill Squad is here," you say. You can feel them out there. Wounded. Angry. The New York City operation left both sides bleeding.
"Well, anyway, it's all we've got," Marie says.
"You should be more worried that we do find them," Woo says. "They could have an army here."
"So do we," Marie says. "So this is it. Us or them."
You all ride in silence after that.
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