81
Time halts.
Beneath the haze of smoke and gas, the hallway’s a perfect and pristine example of First World Corporate Supremacy. Dark red carpet so deep you could comfortably host an orgy on it. Intricately etched glass doors. Portraits of admired figures.
And the portraits hid massive brutal firepower.
Truly, a perfect example.
It’s the last sliver of a second of my life, even past my last breath, and my brain is spending it bitching about the oligarchy.
Figures.
My legs have frozen. Duck one way? The other way? I’m caught, dead center. They can’t miss. The body armor will stop the shells, but beat the hell out of me.
Knocked down in the first volley.
Finished in the second.
Ayaka out-prepared me.
Out-experienced me.
Maybe I’m the one who hot-wired the Large Hadron Collider.
