Three security officers in matte black armor. Guns raised. Red optics burning through the fog of the corridor.
“Step away from the console,” one of them said.
Mina lifted her empty hands slowly.
Sarah rode back on a tide of bad memories. I woke to her rifling through my pill stash, her silhouette cutting through the mist rolling off the drowned streets.
“You look like shit warmed over,” she said, tossing me two super-blues. The capsules glowed faintly in
the half-light.
The air tasted of metal. Like a blood mist. Bodies moved as silhouettes in the strobing lights. The movements sharp, frantic, as if the music was pulling them apart.