Unnamed Journal Volume 2, Issue 5 - Page 6

The Filth of Living Turner put his head next to Gore's and looked out the battle-wagon's front eyeliner for what they'd supposedly driven into the warrens for. A sphere, no wider than a basketball, glowing deep blue in the dusk. Floating in the air. A matrix eye, gathering intel for the perfecti in the Hive. Suspicions confirmed: cybbies about. Turner looked at Gore and Gore looked at Turner and Gore grinned and Turner sneered. "Ten-to-one it's a trap," said Gore. Turner looked at Maxi, who had pulled her eyes out of the scope and was powering down the detection gear so she could power up the wagon's electromagnetic blast array. She paid Turner no attention while she completed this task, and none while she finished her cigarette. When the last tendril of smoke left that, she flicked the butt into Turner's chest. Turner watched it bounce off his chest and spark onto the floor. He stepped on it with his dirty boot. Then he looked up. "Of course it's a trap," said Max