It was something that had been chewing at her for a year. Her real goal had been clinical records-specifically, records from the two weeks before the Incident-and she’d found them. It wasn’t all pharmaceuticals, though she had enough to ease the lives of a whole lot of people. But even if that weren’t the case, her duffel was satisfyingly full. She’d come back once it settled the labs on the lower level were probably still accessible, and there might be some equipment she could use. She’d barely gotten out when the unstable structure caved in-well, she’d planned for it, but planning could only take you so far, and she’d had reason to be grateful to augmented strength. She’d planned her raid on the building carefully, knowing that she’d only have one chance, and the result had been everything she’d hoped for. The abandoned LIMB clinic had been mostly untouched by the fires from the post-Incident riots half-buried by its neighbor’s collapse, it had been abandoned as unsafe. Sloane made her way through the Prague undercity with a sense of exhilaration. Your heart is a furnace, and i'll stoke my rage Wind under wings, and this is icarus' last dance.Ĭlear the stage, pieces swept, trapped in lockstep,įingertips wrote loveletter red, lost in the mailĪnd love is fickle, fleeting, deceiving, conceitedĪnd love is blind, virtuous, gentle, curious Of blood in the throat and a lack of air, disillusionedĮyes prized open and a wolf under your sheepskinĪnd this something is the pulse of the city Pliars to teeth, dug into roots, disheveled and distraught.Ĭoming in clutch with morphine to sooth the soul Peeled paint chips and lead, arsenic blood and fury-fed Something sitting against the edge of your teeth,