“The Bradley hums along the road, its crew sweating at their stations and its squad of four shooters raggedly singing a rap song popular when the world ended. Wendy looks at the optical display, scanning repeatedly for targets, chewing on a piece of nicotine gum and blinking at the head rush. She is addicted to the gum, not the nicotine. Her eyes sweep the indicator lights, confirming the vehicle’s big guns are ready to party. Then she glances at the man sitting next to her and smiles like a school girl.”
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