I paw at the edge of my cell, trying to think a way out of this Kids-vs-Parents hellhole.
They have me in the Fossil Room. It’s got squares of colourful carpet tile and bean bags and racks of books to teach kids how hopeful our rational future was going to be (yeah right). The room is lined with drawers full of fossils of every species imaginable. There are nautiluses, centipedes a metre long, piranha-looking things, eggs sealed in rock. I heft a fossilised egg in my palm, tip back in a baseball pitcher stance and hurl the egg-rock hard at a tiny square window. It leaves a white c***k the size of a coin. This glass is actually thick plastic. It isn’t shattering.
If I can’t get out of here to save the world, this whole species is doomed. We won’t even leave a record if the Mechs sweep up
