Law & Crime
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The guy had his hands around my neck and was slamming my head against the floor. I guess he couldn't decide whether he wanted to strangle me or bash my brains in. Either that, or he'd just got tired of killing people the usual way.
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Black smoke bites my lungs. I gasp to get a breath. As I turn away from the police car, there's a whooshing sound and flames spill from the broken windows. People scramble back from the heat. It feels like my jersey is on fire, but it's not. The torched car, the cheering crowd; it's awful and scary and weirdly fun, like we're in a virtual world. But the smoke is real—very real—and all rules are off.
