Had the cylinders been chained together—as was required by law— things would have been different. But Project Napoleon had been rushed from the start, and at 11:41 p.m. the previous night, the chain needed was still “on order.” Thus, the tubes fell like dominoes when Levi’s mop-handle butted against them, and the security camera—mounted in the upper-right corner of the room, near the ceiling—watched them fall, its reddish eye gleaming.
“s**t!” he cursed, hearing them bang against the floor, and whirled around—
Too late. With a hiss of escaping gas, one of the cylinders took off like a torpedo. He ducked as it whistled overhead and began ricocheting about the room— shattering vials, staving in walls, smashing out lighting fixtures. Levi hit the floor as broken glass rained down, adjustin
