Lilith sat on the mag-rail like a sharpened fist, her diamond drill gleaming at the far end of the sub-aquatic dock, hydraulic doors yawning open and swallowing the last of the Faction's gear with the patient indifference of something that had been built to eat through three thousand miles of continental bedrock and genuinely did not care what came before that.
"Whoever designed this cockpit," Elias said, folding himself into the driver's seat and immediately looking like a man lowering himself into a child's bathtub, "has never once sat in a human body. The seat is shaped wrong for literally any species I'm aware of."
"Maybe it was designed by the same people who made the dental plans," Don said, already in his corner, crossbow across his knees, expression suggesting he'd mentally arrived in Vegas about forty-five minutes ago and was simply waiting for the physical portion of the trip to catch up. "Function was never really the priority."
