John couldn't remember how they got out of the airport. Both of them fell into a trip after the shootout, with their views in front of them twisting and turning, before going completely blank. They were in a nightclub, right on the dance floors about to be crushed by the attention of all the guests around them. They couldn't control their bodies, they just danced like it's been programmed into them. Hardbass blasted around them as the DJ screamed «Давай!» Laser effects along with the bass boosted speakers and the screaming of audiences were a direct assault on their very own sanity, though surprisingly they started to enjoy the atmosphere of a Russian nightlife. The song was something along the lines of Narkotik Kal (drugs are shit), which was pretty ironic.
Something tingled in both of their backs, as they turned around to look at the balcony above them. For some reason one particular man stood out. He was in an elegant pitch-black jacket. Complete with jeans and white sneakers, he would fit the stereotypical description of a gangster. His face was just like everyone else's, except that he noticed the two looking at him. He smiled and calmly walked away.
The vision ended as they were not inside the destroyed airports anymore. They did not look suspicious, their shirts weren't even dirty despite the fighting. Blood and debris travelling at low speed were blocked by a layer of natural redirection. It was as if the fighting never happened. But they all know it did.
"Woah want the fuck. Did you see what I saw?"
"Yes I did."
"It's Nikolai. He's been giving us the visions through some good old AIM diffusion."
They noticed that they were out on the streets already, in the center of Moscow, which they drove here in one of the vans. Through their hallucination they were able to pick out the militants' van and wipe off the blood. This one was in the best condition with the least bullet holes. Their brains are able to capture and synthesize information they learnt much more efficiently. Learning to drive was like learning single digit addition and subtraction. As long as they have their face licenses. They managed to destroy the radio communication system so they can't be tracked tracked down.
It was a futile attempt. Their van was spotted by a patrol force of the same militia. They knew it was them so they fired as soon as they saw their vehicle. People on the sidewalks screamed and tried to get away from the firefight. Civilian cars crashed into each other, then tried to drive away, fear beating their road rage. The two Espers ducked behind the vehicle and started thinking of plans when they heard more gunshots, but this time further away. John couldn't wait, he made a parkour maneuver and climbed to the top of one of the militia's vans. Being distracted by the gunfire, the soldiers in the other two vans were not focused on him. He kicked the AK out of a soldier's hand before kicking him on the head over and over again, then used his limp body as a shield to protect him from bullets. John pulled the pins off of all his grenades before throwing the body back in the van and hopped off as one huge explosion dented the sides and shattered all the windows on it. Then he went back to the van, opened the rear doors as bloody bodies fell out, flesh and armour in a mess. He grabbed a Pecheneg machine gun from the van just as a rocket hit the other van, totaling it. John started firing at the last van, which was driving towards him at full speed. It's windshield eventually shattered from the hail of AP bullets, as a splatter of blood indicated the driver was shot dead. His body went limp, but his foot was still on the gas pedal and his hands were dragging on the steering wheel. The van flipped on its sides, exposing its bottom as the weak spot. John continued to fire on it, the bullets all penetrating through the chassis. The last soldier alive in that van attempted to shoot a RPG, climbing out of the side doors-which was the top, only to get mowed down by John. Blood dropped down from his front side and burst out in mists from his back. Another fusillade of machine gun fire knocked him back wards and right out of the van. The details of his body being shot out happened in slow motion according to John's eyes, every bullet penetrating through the armour, into his body as the bullet started slowing down. The force would spread so that's why the entry wound is always bigger than the exit wound. In this soldier's case, his torso was ripped off by the machine gun fire, then the upper portion of his head blossomed like rose petals.
"That wasn't necessary." John stated as another van drove to them. John was talking to the person in charge of the mounted heavy machine gun. Then he noticed his outfit and his face. He was the person that appeared in their vision.
«Добро пожаловать в Россию!» He said. "So, were you looking for me?"
"Emmm… remind me who you are again?"
"I'm Nikolai Mikhailov." He said, as John's eyes travelled down to the driver seat, then the shotgun seat, and noticed that they all had the same faces. They are clones.