“VAN Cerulean woke in the rattling back of a windowless panel van, spread-eagled to a mattress with the demon pressing down like an octopus squeezing his skull. Sploosh, he thought. Brains in the face. Then he thought, Julio. He shuffled quietly on the mattress, and handcuffs clinked at his wrists, attached to a chain that looped around a metal pole welded to the floor and ceiling. He reached out and pressed against it, testing the strength, but it didn't budge. A prisoner. He'd been shot. It... was dark.Slowly, moving deliberately, he turned and looked down at his belly. He still wore his buttoned blue shirt, and in the dim light cast through a semi-opaque screen separating him from the front of the van, he could see there was no blood. Three shots, but no blood. He shuffled higher, until he could pluck at the shirt and reveal his familiar six-pack, marred by three scabbed dots. His head throbbed. Not bullets. Not Taser darts, the skin would be burned and he'd have felt that differently.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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