DROP TWENTY-SEVEN
Mamacita stepped outside of the Apollo skyscraper. She barely moved a metre before she heard engine roars and a terrible commotion. From each side of the street, Armoured Personnel Carriers were tearing up the place, ploughing through the cars that didn’t get out of the way soon enough and racing towards the middle.
Her.
Mamacita let her head hang.
The APCs stopped before the stairs and groups of armed men and women surrounded her. The passers-by promptly ran out of the way or simply hid wherever they could, behind a column, behind a car, in the bushes.
Mamacita sighed and raised her arms in the air.
“Freeze!” they demanded. Four armed men covered her with their rifles, while two more put cuffs on her that could hold an augmented person. They locked up in both wrist
