All the blades are dancing in the acid raid. Glitter flash. She sees their pitiless eyes glow in the neon dark, scanning her, seeking weakness. Not corporate assassins, or government agents, but worse; the people she had vowed to free. Driven to mindless fear and fervour by obvious lies and cheap scapegoats.
An idea is lodged in her. A vision of something else. Alien. An evolution held in stasis by blind servitude to tradition and control. She cannot allow it to die.
Lightning strikes, flooding the alley with white light for a single blink, and by the time the thunder rolls in, one of the blades has danced its last.
Paddy Dobson
21st December 2020