Grady quickly centered himself in the disorienting chaos.
I live in this shit, you fucks. Not gonna work on me.
He squeezed his eyes shut to ward off the effects of the lights, and reached out into the morass of bodies surrounding him. Grady found a forearm, wrenched it down and backward. He was rewarded by a man’s shouting protests and the clatter of a gun on the concrete floor. Grady continued the movement and flipped his opponent, and savored the satisfying crunch of a shoulder dislocating. The man’s shouts became screams.
Grady tried to discern individuals through hearing alone. Jenny’s screeching was the most obvious, scraping over the sound of men barking commands and grunting with effort. As he spun in a circle, hands flying out in all directions to...
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