This was it. End of the line. They'd had a good run. Fought the odds and somehow gotten their asses out of dodge every time. Aza tensed the blue scales all over his body save his belly inside the armored transport they'd stolen and looked down the scope atop the machine gun mounted to his gunner seat. He knew it was over. Down the road, the swats had assembled by the dozen and erected barricades. There was no way their little convoy could get past the concrete slabs and array of heavily armed enforcers.

"Guys... I think they are gonna win this one, " they growled over their shoulder. The whole crew was there and looking back at them having seen Aza's strength. The half-dragon miracle/freak of science gave them a solemn glare and shook their head.

The lights ahead fixed on the advancing vehicles and a surly slab of meat and armor swat officer shouted through a megaphone. "Fugitives. Halt your advance and surrender or we will open fire."

Aza looked down at the driver of their would be getaway vehicle, their friend and fellow misanthrope. "Well, what do you think Twitch? Go quietly when the whole bottleship city's police force has us in their trap or go out in a blaze of glory and spite?" Aza didn't know why they even asked. Twitch of all people was destined to die in a fiery explosion of some sort. When a deranged laugh was the driver's response to the dragon, they knew everyone was on the same page at least. "Spite and glory it is. Speed up!"

Aza folded his wings back and switched off the safety for the machine gun. Their armored carrier sped towards the barricade. The swat commander stood slack-jawed for a moment. The terrorist delinquents were outnumbered and outgunned a dozen times over. He huffed and raised up the megaphone. "Last warning fugitives. Stop this instant or we will blast the ever loving-"

"What the fuck?!" Aza's eyes went wide. Before he could even pull the trigger, one of the barricades exploded in a plume of flames. From behind one of the highway's guard rails, a sleek motorcycle shot into the air. The rider's tail and cloth sash wrapped around his waist whipped behind him as it soared onto the road, slamming down in a hail of sparks. "Rikki! Dude you're alive! ...and still not wearing pants."

The squirrel atop his bike grinned as the omnidirectional wheels spun like gyroscopes to make an impossible turn and bring himself alongside the armored vehicle his friends had stolen. The bike's weapons systems roared to life as he sped ahead to take point for the caravan, opening up on the assembled enforcers and what was left of the barricade. The rotary cannons on each side roared with a torrent of bullets. The missile launcher slaved to Rikki's visor tilted up and fired tiny rockets into the air that came back down to hit precise targets from above.

"Sorry to ruin your sensational suicide run guys, " Rikki called back as he cleared a path. "I'm afraid this shitshow isn't over yet." The squirrel leaned forward with a wide smile and tore ahead atop his custom-built war machine, leading the ramshackle caravan of misfits and weirdos out of certain death yet again.
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This amazing piece by Kitfox Crimson is of Rikki, my brilliant and deeply eccentric red squirrel. What he lacks in sanity, common sense, and even a sliver of modesty, he makes up for with genius insight into machines and unwavering loyalty to his friends. Kitfox killed it and the perspective is amazing. Rikki's attitude is just perfect here and the silk sash with hibiscus flower print in lieu of pants is truly the only way to ride into battle.

Art ©️kitfox-crimson (https://www.deviantart.com/kitfox-crimson)

Character ©️ kitkabbit