The agents are gathered in Mike's chopper, long since having taken off from Zephyr HQ. The most pertinent details available in the fast-tracked Z briefing were as follows: A feral has, by some insane stroke of misfortune, acquired an active nanite server box. Zephyr has managed to triangulate the center of the bubble by measuring the perimeter. The server is highly likely to be in the middle of a previously undiscovered survivor enclave, self-isolated from the rest of the nanite ravaged world.

"Okay people, look sharp, this must be it," Mike warns: The faint sounds of distant gunfire are the first sign of the reported trouble, and the sight of a walled-off survivor enclave is the second, lit up like a beacon in the night by a rampaging fire. As the chopper gets closer, more of the horror is revealed by the senses. Screaming, the scents of smoke, the smell of blood and the underlying hints of orgiastic sex so intense it can be smelled from here. Anyone who was around at P-day is struck by the same, hideously nostalgic wave of emotions they felt on that fateful day. It's all too familiar. The tension is cut, though not deeply, by Mike's voice. "Tell me where you want to drop and hurry up about it. I have a bad feeling about this."

Edel hated walking all the way back to Zephyr just to catch a ride, but if her dear neighbor was caught up in all of this, well. She had to be a good samaritan and see what it was all about. Stroking her fingers along the string of her bow, she stares out at the approaching enclave in the distance. She was born in Fairhaven, before the nanite. It was a scenario she knew all too well. This time, though, she was prepared to face it. "I want out on the outskirts. I don't plan on going in hot."

Mike's chopper must be huge, because a towering 12-foot tall pile of armored metallic plating, solid muscle, and bony spikes like Loki absolutely dominates a huge corner of it. It wouldn't be surprising if the dragon actually had some impact on the chopper's ability to function to to his sheer density. The dragon's bronze tonge flits past his teeth as he eyes the carnage and he fights the gutteral instinct to just jump out and soar on down into the carnage. His eyes scan the scene, looking for two things - landmarks, what looks important, and safe vantage points that could be used for a retreat or holdout.

Cerris is silent for most of the ride aside from greeting those he was to be fighting along side. Dressed for both combat and to be reassuringly identifiable as sane, he plans to make his pressence here something to get things under control. For him this was both personal and political, if he was going to win over the various factions of Fairhaven he would need to show them he was a force to be relied upon.

"Let's stick together people, let's try to minimize the chaos and see if we can't come out of this smelling like roses. Be nice if we could drop a spotter and sniper further back for cover, but I'm ready to go."

So saying he pats Edel on the back and moves to the door and grasp the handle and pull ready to jump or respond as needed. He had a little girl to go rescue and damnit little girls deserve heros and rescuing.

Staring outside of the window, Phosphorus observes the scene silently. She's experiencing many, many emotions, currently - but the both her normal sort of temprament and a well-placed balaclava helps obscure this fact. Her armor proudly wears 'POLICE' printed across the front of the plate carrier, her protective helmet's face shield locked in the upwards position. She's rather properly representing the K9s, it seems. It's rare enough that she's out herself nowadays; but, desperate times, desperate measures.

The panda sighs. A cold wave of calm rolls over her. She turns to peer at the group, clasping her hands together, leaning forward on her knees, and sighing. "Alright. We have next to zero time. The catastrophe is in motion. I propose we split into two fireteams. One go help the existing survivors contain, and hopefully turn the tide, and the other head, go contain the source. Sound good?"

Fiore's eyes regard the scene unfolding in the compound off in the distance. Her eyes, used to scanning for movement in among the salvage, pick up on the sight of a few huskies going ham on a door. The shreds of cloathing tell her these might be the *recently* feral, and this makes the vixen nervous. The fire illuminated other hostiles, but Fiore couldn't determine just what they where. While this didn't confirm the roumor's she'd been told, this didn't contradict anything either.

"I'd gotten reports that the server here was stolen by the new daughter of it's owner, I'd consider her a hostile as well if I where you."

Fiore's nose picks up that *smell* through her helmet. Her ears would pin if her helmet's shape would have allowed it. They try anyway. She goes silent for a moment longer as any sense of duty or bravado leave her. "What's that smell-oh to hell with *this*... I didn't sign up for THIS." Her head looks back to the Pilot, "Mike! You're goanna have one comin back. I don't feel like pissing off my mother smelling like this. Nor did I bring what this requires... Russ will be pissed I didn't get electronic intel..... Buuuuut I think he'll understand when he sees the pictures." The vixen shrugs then, and tightens down her straps

Mike gives Fiore a broad shrug in reply. "Your call, man, but we're going to have to get closer before we get away. Uh, speaking of which, try to keep the ferals off if they get close, please." The agents lay out a plan and relay it to Mike- that is, to drop them off in the courtyard a bit away from the bulk of the action, somewhat near a barricaded building. Looks like it's some sort of barracks or other living area from the outside, but it's hard to say, especially because most markings have been torn away by the swarm of some dozen huskies trying to knock down the doors and smash boarded windows. The chopper hovers lower and lower, and with so much intense noise already present it just adds another layer to the din, only attracting the notice of some dazed, wandering ferals in half-ruined clothes, freshly transformed. They perks their ears up and start stumbling towards the vehicle, a small drop's worth above the ground. Mike nearly sounds hysterical when he shouts, "Would'ja look at that! Fresh outta time, people! Go, go, fucking go already!"

Everywhere there is smoke. Everywhere there is sex. It's hard to see too far ahead, both for the darkness and the smog. Figures move in the dark.