Your knees hurt. Your head hurts. You can’t see until something in your helmet clicks and a thin veneer of honey-gold lights the dark world up. Your throat is scratchy and it rasps harshly every breath you take. Each breath feels like cotton on your tongue.
Where are you? You take one step forward, then another, again and again until you’re several feet out from where you landed. A police car is smashed, but not burning. Why?
Why, why, why?
You stare at the car because it’s the most distracting thing. It has symbols scrawled across its doors. Letters? Words?
Your helmet beeps. Similar symbols scrawl just in front of your eyes.
