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.“I’m just fixin’ to make some more noise.” This was probably the tenth time he’d said so over the past hour.The frustrating thing was, he had no way of knowing if his words were being heard or not.It was a very weary Perry Cooper standing across the street and a few doors down from a PCA way station.He puffed away at his third straight cigarette, the cherry glowing bright in the late-night darkness, even though smoking was a habit he’d kicked years ago.Somehow, in spite of all that he had lost since the incident at his apartment complex, that he had been driven back to smoking felt the most pathetic to him.And yet, as this cigarette burned down to the filter, he took out his stolen pack and lit up a fourth one.The PCA way station across the street, Cooper knew from personal experience, was one of the smaller places where they stashed Class One rogues temporarily, usually drugged to the gills and/or still trembling from psi-jammer shock.They only had three or four special cells, but that was more than any regular police holding pen could claim.Cooper’s day had been miserable.Starting with his early-morning, low-profile robbery of the bank, followed soon thereafter by his deliberately high-profile assault on the fast food restaurant, he had also robbed a gas station (where he had stolen the cigarettes and lighter), been chased by the regular police for two miles down a freeway before he rolled his shield off the edge of an overpass, made a huge scene at the local mall, destroyed an electrical transformer, and as a bonus, rolled over a public mailbox.All of that had been spread out over fourteen hours or so, and over and over during that time, his invisible liberator (yeah, that was a laugh) dropped by to demand he keep “making noise,” keep “pulling down fire.” No matter where Cooper was, the guy found him, again and again.As the day had ground into night, and Cooper’s energy faltered, the threats from his stalker grew into crazy, bizarre stuff like “strangle into the coldest dark” or “dark skinned living, putting a bucket in the mess”.Cooper could barely follow his weird speech, but he recognized the menace behind the words, and it was making him paranoid: Even just an hour ago, as he huddled inside a storm drain to avoid a police helicopter buzzing overhead, he could’ve sworn he felt someone moving right up behind him, but by then his nerves were so shot.He knew he couldn’t keep this up.He was too old, too depleted, and, in spite of his condemnable actions back at the apartment, not naturally given to violence.He knew he had to find a way out of this mess.and then he’d gotten the idea.From his current vantage point, Cooper could see a shitload of smoke rising from a skyscraper a few miles away.Even as he watched, a wave of green light — light which splashed and flowed like water — sloshed out through a broken, smoky window; it ran out into the open air, tumbled a few floors like a waterfall before crashing back inside.Another rogue, Cooper thought, hitting another high-profile target.That’s gotta be the third one.I’m sure not the only fool forced to go out and ‘make noise’ today.Cooper was on his eighth cigarette when he finally saw a PCA car pull into the way station.Showtime.Christ, I hope this works.With one more verbal assurance to his maybe-present invisible slaver, Cooper snapped on his shield and rolled across the street.The agents were opening the backseat of their car as Cooper, rolling at a good speed now, reached the parking lot; he could just barely make out the slumped figure of a woman, with a telltale psi-jammer locked onto her forehead.“Hey!”Startled, Cooper flicked his gaze to the station doorway; two more PCA agents had appeared, fumbling for their weapons.Good, this has gotta look good, gotta look great.The surprised agents by the car looked first to their comrades, then turned to face the oncoming threat.One already had his stun gun out; the other just hurried to get the hell out of the way.which was easier than it should have been, because Cooper had been aiming for the front of their car all along.He smashed the hell of out the fender, then rolled right on over it, flattening the hood.“I know that one!” he heard one of them shout.“Manning! Get inside and grab the laser harness!”Steering his shield around for another pass, Cooper flinched when he heard this.Come on, damn it, come on!Two of the agents were using the back of the car for cover as they wielded their V9s toward the rogue bearing down on them.But where did the third agent go?“Gotcha!”A moment before Cooper collided with the rear fender, something yellow-green and very slimy splashed onto his shield, as if a giant had hocked the world’s biggest loogie on him.It didn’t get through, but it caused him to jerk to one side so that he only clipped the car’s back bumper [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.“I’m just fixin’ to make some more noise.” This was probably the tenth time he’d said so over the past hour.The frustrating thing was, he had no way of knowing if his words were being heard or not.It was a very weary Perry Cooper standing across the street and a few doors down from a PCA way station.He puffed away at his third straight cigarette, the cherry glowing bright in the late-night darkness, even though smoking was a habit he’d kicked years ago.Somehow, in spite of all that he had lost since the incident at his apartment complex, that he had been driven back to smoking felt the most pathetic to him.And yet, as this cigarette burned down to the filter, he took out his stolen pack and lit up a fourth one.The PCA way station across the street, Cooper knew from personal experience, was one of the smaller places where they stashed Class One rogues temporarily, usually drugged to the gills and/or still trembling from psi-jammer shock.They only had three or four special cells, but that was more than any regular police holding pen could claim.Cooper’s day had been miserable.Starting with his early-morning, low-profile robbery of the bank, followed soon thereafter by his deliberately high-profile assault on the fast food restaurant, he had also robbed a gas station (where he had stolen the cigarettes and lighter), been chased by the regular police for two miles down a freeway before he rolled his shield off the edge of an overpass, made a huge scene at the local mall, destroyed an electrical transformer, and as a bonus, rolled over a public mailbox.All of that had been spread out over fourteen hours or so, and over and over during that time, his invisible liberator (yeah, that was a laugh) dropped by to demand he keep “making noise,” keep “pulling down fire.” No matter where Cooper was, the guy found him, again and again.As the day had ground into night, and Cooper’s energy faltered, the threats from his stalker grew into crazy, bizarre stuff like “strangle into the coldest dark” or “dark skinned living, putting a bucket in the mess”.Cooper could barely follow his weird speech, but he recognized the menace behind the words, and it was making him paranoid: Even just an hour ago, as he huddled inside a storm drain to avoid a police helicopter buzzing overhead, he could’ve sworn he felt someone moving right up behind him, but by then his nerves were so shot.He knew he couldn’t keep this up.He was too old, too depleted, and, in spite of his condemnable actions back at the apartment, not naturally given to violence.He knew he had to find a way out of this mess.and then he’d gotten the idea.From his current vantage point, Cooper could see a shitload of smoke rising from a skyscraper a few miles away.Even as he watched, a wave of green light — light which splashed and flowed like water — sloshed out through a broken, smoky window; it ran out into the open air, tumbled a few floors like a waterfall before crashing back inside.Another rogue, Cooper thought, hitting another high-profile target.That’s gotta be the third one.I’m sure not the only fool forced to go out and ‘make noise’ today.Cooper was on his eighth cigarette when he finally saw a PCA car pull into the way station.Showtime.Christ, I hope this works.With one more verbal assurance to his maybe-present invisible slaver, Cooper snapped on his shield and rolled across the street.The agents were opening the backseat of their car as Cooper, rolling at a good speed now, reached the parking lot; he could just barely make out the slumped figure of a woman, with a telltale psi-jammer locked onto her forehead.“Hey!”Startled, Cooper flicked his gaze to the station doorway; two more PCA agents had appeared, fumbling for their weapons.Good, this has gotta look good, gotta look great.The surprised agents by the car looked first to their comrades, then turned to face the oncoming threat.One already had his stun gun out; the other just hurried to get the hell out of the way.which was easier than it should have been, because Cooper had been aiming for the front of their car all along.He smashed the hell of out the fender, then rolled right on over it, flattening the hood.“I know that one!” he heard one of them shout.“Manning! Get inside and grab the laser harness!”Steering his shield around for another pass, Cooper flinched when he heard this.Come on, damn it, come on!Two of the agents were using the back of the car for cover as they wielded their V9s toward the rogue bearing down on them.But where did the third agent go?“Gotcha!”A moment before Cooper collided with the rear fender, something yellow-green and very slimy splashed onto his shield, as if a giant had hocked the world’s biggest loogie on him.It didn’t get through, but it caused him to jerk to one side so that he only clipped the car’s back bumper [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]