The car moved with a sickeningly smooth efficiency, a black capsule of dread melting into the city's indifferent traffic. Inside, the air was thick and claustrophobic, heavy with the scent of cheap air freshener, fear-sweat, and the cold, metallic tang of the guns pointed at them.
[Quiet Life System: What are you doing, Franz?]
What the fuck am I supposed to do? Franz thought back, his internal voice a low, irritated growl. Don't you see the guns pointing at our heads? We'll just see where this goes. But this fucker… His eyes flickered to Zane, who was vibrating with a barely contained panic, his face pale and slick with sweat. …he better not try anything funny right now.
Jason, the officer, seemed to be in a marginally better state. His fear was a tightly controlled thing, coiled beneath a layer of professional training. He cleared his throat, his voice steady but strained.
