A voice crackled over the Crast's internal speakers. It was one of the pilots.
"We are now setting down at IPG headquarters. You may disembark when ready."
The cockpit door opened, Flins stepping out. His massive frame didn't do much to allow light back into the chopper's cabin. He said nothing as he walked to the door, hit a switch, and opened it, hopping out to the ground. He walked away from the Crast, turning and looking back at it once he had gone about 15 feet.
The area in which the chopper had landed was slightly different than that which they had departed from earlier. The IPG's monolithic headquarters tower was still looming, but it was in the distance, about a half mile away, vaguely illuminated by a number of spotlights from below. Even from the ground, the lights on the top of the structure used to warn aircraft were visible, even though the actual building's features gave way to darkness.
The chopper had set down near a much more humble structure, made of the same gray metal that the IPG seemed to absolutely love. A red, even-armed cross was painted above the large door, and illuminated by several lights.