A stream of plasma bolts came flying out of the fog, a couple glancing off the titanium shell of John’s Mjolnir at chest height. He threw himself to his belly, dropping below the plane of fire, and rolled left.
	...
	The vehicle was barely visible but swerving in his direction, not emerging from the fog so much as manifesting inside it like some kind of ghost. It was almost on him now, wide in the front and narrow in the back, with nothing beneath it but a shimmering cushion of emptiness. In its cockpit, hunched behind the vehicle’s winged chassis rode a huge Brute in deep-red armor.