|pRoj<ec>T_</fo>uR|
WHAT FOLLOWS: S1.E01.3
When
the first hot drop hit his face, he flinched in surprise as it burned
him and brushed it from his cheek before it had the chance to run
down it at all. He then ventured a brief glance up at the clouds, so
heavy with snow that they sagged below the tops of the massive
factory cranes to either side. The second drop hit his nose and he
brushed it off just as quickly, turning his face down and lowering
the brim of his hat. He pulled his weathered gloves a bit farther
onto his wrists, the greyish cards dangling from his coat sleeves –
three each – clattered together like cardboard wind-chimes. Then
the drops fell a bit faster, and the men around him began to shuffle
and close up their own clothes to keep the scalding raindrops from
working their way in.
The
policemen-soldiers had moved concrete partitions into the spaces
between the parked vans, using both to form a solid wall that fully
blocked all lanes of the highway. Their riot shields were propped
against the wall, ready to be heaved into place above it to form the
upper half of a taller wall, one that they would move and fluctuate
as they needed it to. It looked a bit as though they'd carved a
trench from concrete and plastic, an archery pit where knights in
suits of black silicon carbide and canvas armor would fire bolts of
lead and metal and ballistics, slugs with exploding arrowheads, at an
oncoming enemy.
