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Rodin was on the floor. There was lightning in his eyes, and every cell in his body twitched.
He knew what had happened. But not how.
He’d been shocked before. Different places, different methods. All were painful.
Aleph had her home-made stunner, testing it on him as he rose to leave her room. She’d had it set low, but it still knocked him to the floor. Another time, there’d been a door rigged to send a jolt through anyone touching it; Rodin pulled his hand back too late and found himself against the opposite wall, his body twitching. And a third time, a target had fought back, reaching for a cable and swinging it wildly, in some sub-station; he remembered the smell of ozone, the air crackling with life. That time, Rodin had sent the blade on it’s true path even as the wire
