![]() He won’t turn to count them when you’re running for your life, desperate to remain undivided, it doesn’t matter whether there’s one, or ten, or a hundred Juvey-cops behind you. There are two, maybe three Juvey-cops chasing him. As far as humanity is concerned, he’s an object. If he’s caught, he’ll be unwound what could possibly be worse than that? And calling him “son”? How can a Juvey-cop have the nerve to call him “son” when the world no longer sees him as a child of the human race. He’d laugh at that if he could catch his breath. “Running will only make it worse for you, son,” calls one of the Juvies. The sheets of rain make it harder for them to get a bead on him. ![]() ![]() The sky has torn loose with a late summer storm of near biblical proportions, but the storm is his best friend today because the relentless torrents hinder the Juvey-cops in pursuit. ![]() A second tranq flies just beneath his armpit-he actually sees it flaring past-hitting the trash can in the alley ahead of him with a dull clank. A tranq tears past his head so close that his earlobe is skinned from the friction. ![]()
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