Wolverton dives through the grey floss in the vague direction of the gun.  He hears a groan from the suit nearby and something in Cantonese from behind the desk that doesn’t sound polite.

His hand touches metal and he rolls to his feet.  The cloud spread out over the room is collapsing in on itself, unable to hold a structure under gravity.  The suit’s struggling to his feet and Wolverton keeps the revolver pointed in his direction.

There’s a further invective from behind the desk, followed by his interlocutor.  She stops to survey the scene.

“Ok, Mr Jones, you were saying?”


~ by Electro-mechanical Man on March 16, 2011.

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