Alice’s gloves were tough, made from the same fabric as her suit, but this would hurt. She gripped the cable with both hands, then swung out over the drop. There was a sickening moment of vertigo as the dark and hot confines of the tunnel were replaced with cold and white nothing. She wrapped her legs around the line and loosened her grip. Slow at first, then faster, she slid downward. There were shouts, and bullets tracked her from the duct—only a few rounds at first, but as alarms rang out, additional crackling gunfire came from the buildings below. She gathered speed, the wind a roar in her ears, as Fourth Ward staff scurried onto the uneven rooftops. She was lucky none of them had any real training, their guns a mixture of family heirlooms whose rounds fell beneath her, or more modern gear that required proper training.