Now I can see where I am, and I don’t like it. The warehouse parking lot’s full of Lone Star patrol cars, all with their pretty lights flashing and sparking. From the number of vehicles, I’d guess we’re dealing with at least two FRT squads. (Two-plus combat guns. Glad I didn’t know that earlier.) Figures scurry around as we tear out onto 144th Avenue, and a couple of cars are firing up for the pursuit.