[Thursday June 18th, 2076, ~01:25, Soho, London]
Reversing at speed bumper-to-bumper with the Jackrabbit to his rear while shouting orders at the flustered family that were his charges, Al did his best to keep track of everything going on.
He could hear the chopper above him - and suddenly he could see it! - above and just ahead of him - deadly SWAT ninjas fastroping down. It was as though a new window had opened up in the roof of the van's cab, and a microsecond later he realized his entire vehicle was like one huge window - looking down he could see the filthy alley floor beneath his feet. Of course he lost his rear-facing camera feed, and instinctively glancing at his side mirrors, they were gone too! He would have smacked into rat-boy's minicar had the anti-collisions not kicked in at the last moment - right, their radar operated outside the visible spectrum.
So weird was the sensation that it actually took his razor-sharp brain a few ticks to realize that if he wanted to see to the rear of the windowless van bed, he now had but to turn and look. But before he could do so his front view was engulfed in fire as he watched a replica of his Bulldog appear in front of him and just as quickly vaporize in a cloud of superheated petroleum. Damn, how many Satanists was this crew packing? Whatever, he could figure out a way to buy back his soul later, now he had to drive. Placing his left arm over the back of Spike's seat, he turned and asked: "Lord o' lightnin', Daddy, you do that?" at which point he swerved to dodge an errant dumpster, and his move sent the black magician's head into an invisible tool case near the roof, and the man was down for the count.
And then he was turning the corner out onto the street, narrowly avoiding two oncoming and altogether unsuspecting motorists. He deftly shifted out of reverse even as he forced his tires to find traction on the asphalt, and shot forward. It was tearing at him to leave his dismounted companions behind, but his first concern had to be the innocent family in the back. And it was no good staying in the enemy's deathbox anyway. He switched off his commlink, yelling for the boy to do the same to Daddy's.
He could no longer see the array of warning lights on his dash, but he'd never have used them anyway - anything he needed to know about how his baby was doing he could tell from the uneven vibrations in the seat under him, the tone of the engine's forlorn whine, and the angry smells washing up to him from the undercarriage. Sensing a problem, he eased back on the RPMs and wondered where he was going next.