The freight lift opened on four people standing upright in hospital frames.
Steel held each officer at ankle, hip, wrist, and chest. White support bands connected their bodies to direction panels behind their heads.
None carried a weapon.
The frames did.
Cutting arms unfolded from the lift walls.
Pela swung her fire axe before the doors finished opening. The blade struck the first arm at its middle joint and stuck.
The machine pulled her toward the car.
Caleb caught the axe handle.
Silver spread from his palm over the wooden shaft and into the joint. He twisted. Gears came out through the arm's casing in a line of black grease.
The officer inside the nearest frame screamed as the machine tried to complete its assigned step without a working knee.
"Name," Rina said.
His mouth moved against a breathing plate.
"Ors Kellan."
"Harm?"
"Frame walks first."
"Direction?"
His eyes went down.
Caleb drove a silver wedge under the ankle lock.
"Floor?"
Ors blinked once.
