Outside was terrifying. Seven gasped out loud, and a puff of his breath was visible in the cold air. It was snowing, and every time a flake landed on him, he felt a burst of cold wetness, like he was being bombarded with tiny frozen bombs. Every so often, a car rumbled by, and Seven would jump back from the road, startled by the vibrations he could both hear and feel.
“It’s just a street,” Fox said, watching him look at the sky in fascination. “An ordinary street. There are lots of street and they’re all covered in slush.”
The facility had been quiet and blank, all muffled sound and muted tones. This was like an attack on all his unused senses.
Seven curiously opened his mouth so that a snowflake landed on his tongue. In shock, he tried to spit it out, to dislodge the feeling of ice mel
