He feels it before the call comes in; feels it in his ears and his fingertips, a crackling, dangerous awareness, a sense of fast-approaching danger. By the time he hears the radio - can seek a target on its own, cracklesnap - he's already pulling to one side, letting it zoom over his head. It looks like a fireball, all golden light and sparks, but it feels like a thunderstorm, something enormous and implacable.
Still - he's fast and he's smart, and so far that's been enough. In a way, it's even fun - testing the limits, pushing himself farther and harder and higher, doing something that actually matters for a few seconds, even if it's only to him, even if it's just the scream of gravity and air as they drop out of the sky.
It buries itself in ice, but it's not dead, and it's shooting back into the sky before he can get clear, angling itself around to their position. Something doesn't fit, though - there's a familiarity to this, something that sings in his blood and resonates in the back of his throat, rich and heavy, so close he can just reach out and -
No, John thinks, with sudden and startling clarity, no, not like this - this is wrong - no - stop -
And the drone shuts itself down.