Off Limits
"Get up and fight me, Peter! Defend your system! Run your models! Use your security tech! Call Miller! Do something!"
Peter didn't move for three long, agonizing seconds. He lay perfectly still on his side, his face hidden in the darkness, his charcoal-gray bespoke suit jacket already ruined—torn at the shoulder blade where the rusted metal beam had sliced through the expensive wool fabric, staining it with a dark smear of grease and ancient iron scale.
Then, with a slow, agonizingly mechanical deliberation that looked entirely artificial, his fingers began to curl into the dirt.