Hard boiled action hero. Tough. He tracks everything around him as he moves, in case he has to punch it or jump through it. Tight-lipped. Lots of fragments.
Then I was walked to the left. They stopped me in front of a door. Baker swung it open and I was pushed into a room. It was an interview facility. No windows. A white table and three chairs. Carpet. In the top corner of the room, a camera. The air in the room was set very cold. I was still wet from the rain.
I marched forward with the rest. We walked over bodies. An arm rolled under my feet. It was the butcher from the market. Renard. Waxy face and bloody throat. Grapeshot. Hidden beneath him, the body of his son. The air was bitter. The boy was dead.
