Page 170 of Hunters and Prey

I cut him off, clicking in annoyance.

“––Your construct doesn’t turn your employees into cultist religious fanatic zombies, Black,” I retorted. “Or strip them of their free will. Or immerse them in some twisted seer Nazism that places pureblood seers at the center of the universe.”

He stared at me, his jaw gradually hardening.

I watched his eyes narrow back to that predator’s stare.

Meeting his gaze, I bit my lip, shaking my head. “You’re not thinking clearly right now, Black. You’re not.”

“And you are thinking clearly? Have you forgotten what Brick––”

That time, it wasn’t me who cut him off.

An explosion rocked up the glass walls of the building from the street below, causing both of us to turn, to stare towards the low railing that rimmed the edge of the outdoor terrace. The sound echoed up the buildings on either side of California Street, rippling the windows in the office complex that stood directly across from us.

In the same mirrored window panes, I saw plumes of black and gray smoke rising from the street.

Black walked swiftly to the edge of the terrace.

Reaching it in what seemed like a few strides, he gripped the metal edge, leaning over to look down at the source of the smoke as it began tunneling up between the buildings.

I joined him, getting up from the outdoor deck chair and walking to the same railing.

A van was on fire across the street from Black’s building.

Most of the vehicle was already gutted, as if the explosion had come from inside, not from without. The windows were all shattered, and the fire must be burning hot, given the thick smell of burning plastic and metal despite how short a time it had been burning. From what I could still make out of the lettering on the side, it looked like some kind of delivery van, probably for one of the high-end companies located on this stretch of street.

That’s when I heard the howls.

Echoing strangely up the buildings, catcalls and wolf-like barks filled the street, mixed with laughter and lower rumbles of words.

They were too far away for me to make out any of what they said.

I might have been able to read them with my seer’s sight, but I didn’t try.

There was no point; I knew who they were.

All but one wore the tell-tale red and black masks, along with black clothes decorated with the three-spiral symbol painted on their backs, and that odd triangle symbol I’d noticed during those first riots in the Mission District.

Like in the Mission, most of them looked fit and probably young, maybe ranging from late teens to early thirties.

That night in the Mission I’d seen older foot soldiers in my uncle’s ranks, too.

Those older goons looked more like actual soldiers, though. They also tended to be better armed, and moved more like military units than a pack of bored, destructive kids.

I tracked the red-masked Purity soldiers now as they ran in a disorganized crowd down the street, brandishing crude weapons and laughing as they made their way towards Market. Watching them, I felt that pain in my head grow exponentially worse.

Already it was so bad I could barely think through it.

Hell, I could barely focus my eyes.

I noted the number and types of weapons this group had with them. It was mostly crude things like iron pipes and baseball bats, but more than one carried handguns, and at least one I saw had an assault rifle slung around his shoulder and chest.

It was almost all men. I’d noticed that in the Mission, too.

All of them wore black backpacks.

I had to assume at least some of those backpacks contained more explosives.

---