The light bulb was swinging. Back and forth, a pendulum over the dying Union man. His blood spattered over the antique printing press, dripping onto the anti-government pamphlets scattered on the floor. The printer"s fingers twitched in a puddle of blood and ink and dirt. His face was pressed into the floorboards, his last breaths clogged with paper dust. Then he was gone, the moment as swift as the assault on his office. Five enforcement officers pointed smoking automatic rifles over him. Their victory had been spoiled by yet another anticlimactic bust. Union men favoured words over weapons. The fight was starting to become a s*******r.
There were other targets. The Union had stores and offices all over S"aven. There was no point wasting time on a lone rebel and an archaic printing syste
