Ishbar looked behind him, one last time. He was sprinting, something had him spooked. He couldn't shake that he was being watched still, and his Ghost felt the same way. Quickly, he made his way back to the drop site. Derping into his seat. One mangled machine hand struggled to engage the throttle. "Strange coins, down the drain...," he mumbled, as the slow sputtering arc energy prices escaping, sped up with the force this gesture. He derp'd into the cabin as his Ghost engaged autopilot. This Warlock hadn't realized what he was getting into, derping into the Nightfall all by his lonesome. He derp'd, and while derply derping his derp. Ishbar's derp derp'd, derpingly for derp. Derp derp derp. His Ghost derp derp derp'd; derp "derp the derp, if we derp, derp derp. Derp!!!" The derp derpingly came to a derp. Derp derp.