Twenty-Two
Years in Security, and I’d never had a real fight. Not like this.
I staggered back to the open doors to the elevator shaft, staying out of the reach of the broken people I’d attacked. My stomach was an acid pit, and my ribs ached for a breath I didn’t have the time to take. Bizarre tensions rippled through my every muscle. My entire brain throbbed and pounded against the prison of my skull.
Was this what a real fight with people felt like? I’d never had one before. Not like this. I’d struggled. I’d dodged and weaved and distracted. I’d never gone knuckles-and-club with other human beings. My usable hand burned around the prybar. I wanted to throw the horrible thing away, but I needed it. I willed myself to relax, but my stunned arm hung like meat on a hook in a butcher’s shop
