Sixty laser-scanner batons swung down toward the steel wrist-chain linking Julian to the crash-cart as Director Hargrove backed against the brass kiosk.
Two seven-foot Audit Legionnaires lunged from the line. Their mirrored shields gleamed with cold gray light as they leveled heavy bronze poleaxes.
Julian threw his full weight forward against the iron wrist-cuff, boots digging into the softening marble.
The galvanized chain went rigid with a sharp metallic twang that rattled his teeth.
Behind him, Mobile Register Annex #04-B groaned on its casters. The left front wheel sank into the bubbling gray Clause-Pulp, tilting the heavy stainless-steel frame.
“I’ve got the flank!” Mac bellowed, charging two paces into the muck.
Mac swung his twenty-inch steel spanner in a flat, violent curve.
CLANG-CRACK.
