“…can refer to any special subject with safety,” continues the voice from the dictaphone, as Wolverton scrabbles for it with one hand.  Shen’s weight bears down on him and he tries to hold him back with his free arm.  Shen pushes forward single-mindedly, mouth bristling wide with alien parts.

Wolverton’s fingers touch metal.  He holds the device forth like a crucifix and the shimmering edges of his vision snap solid.  There’s a loud report and Shen’s features disintegrate into ruin.  Chen Baochai crouches, holding Mr Yeung’s smoking pistol.

Wolverton shoves the body aside and rolls away, puking onto the concrete.


~ by Electro-mechanical Man on June 8, 2011.

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