To my right, Piers sprays a long burst into the shadows just under the roof at the far end of the warehouse. Bullets spatter and spark off all the metal up there, and I think for a moment he’s seeing things. But fragged if there isn’t a squawk and then a dark shape tumbling from the catwalk to crash-splat into some cargo boxes below. Lucas—a few ticks late, as usual—hoses down the spot where the figure isn’t anymore.