Storm (Swipe Series)

its edge, looking down now. “I’m sure,” he told Shawn. “You have the spray paint?”
    Shawn handed him the can.
    “We’re likely to hit a big swath of IMP squads with this one, guys, so be ready. We should be talking a whole lot more than our usual ten or twelve guys.” Blake said it to the room, though for all anyone was concerned, he might as well have been talking to himself.
    “Let’s hope you’re right,” Tyler said after he’d made his way out of the window and tied himself onto Shawn’s dangling rope. “I’m getting pretty tired of this.” And with that, he lowered himself down and out of sight.

    Skyscrapers in Beacon were more than just glass and concrete and steel. Famously, their walls were made almost exclusively of ground-to-sky wallscreens. Every last building in City Center, private or public, in addition to anything else, was a skyscraper-sized television that hawked endless advertisements for products, brand names, food chains, and entertainment. Walking through Beacon City’s sidewalks, one’s peripheral vision was on constant sensory overload with colorful commercials and breaking news flashes, stretching as high as the eye could see.
    This citywide projection system also provided Lamson and Cylis with a quick, reliable way to communicate with Beacon denizens. Frequently, one or the other of them could be seen walking from building to building, their colossal projections strolling across each successive skyscraper wall, superimposed on each advertisement, taking precedence above everything else.
    And in addition to this, ever since the Markless protests had begun several weeks ago, one entire skyscraper had been commandeered for the use of a dedicated Chancellor Cylis video feed, a short looping projection of him just standing there, arms crossed, watching over all, as if generously listening to everyone’s concerns, as though ready to sympathize and ponder them and respond at any moment, even if so far, he never had.
    As it happened, the Sweeneys lived in this commandeered building. And right now, dangling from the ropes that Shawn had hung from their window, Tyler was staring that enormous projection of the chancellor right in the face.
    He shook his can of black spray paint giddily. And he began to give Cylis the mustache Tyler always thought he deserved.

    The IMPS descended fast, rappelling down from the building’s rooftop with slick tactical cables and lining the city sidewalks at ground level over a hundred stories down.
    For blocks all around him, Tyler could see Markless protesters gathering below, laughing and pointing and cheering at the sight of Cylis’s projection as it more or less stayed remarkably well-aligned with the gigantic, black mustache Tyler had so crudely given it. For a moment, he sat, basking in the glory and the attention. But the speed and force of the IMPS’ response was hardly surprising, and Tyler figured he had about thirty seconds to get back inside before one of these rappelling Moderators started shooting at him.
    “Move, Tyler, move !” Blake shouted from the Sweeneys’ window two stories above, and Tyler began climbing fast, hand over hand.
    From inside the Sweeneys’ apartment, Shawn stood, feet braced against the base of the kitchen counter, turning the pulley of Tyler’s harness as fast as he could. It wouldn’t be long, he knew, before the IMPS isolated the apartment and ambushed from inside as well. Through the movement and the shouts, he thought he could hear the elevators ascending already.
    “You’re gonna wanna vacate,” Blake yelled to the Sweeneys, who, it seemed increasingly clear, were more than a little unprepared for the magnitude of the response this little act of vandalism would bring.
    Soon, Tyler made it to the open window, but not before an electrobullet grazed his shoulder. It shorted and sparked blue, leaving Tyler just one good hand with which to pull himself up. More and more cables dropped into view all around him, andBlake sprang into action, leaning out the window and dragging Tyler in before the IMPS slid all the way down from the rooftop above.
    Tyler lay on the floor now, clutching his shoulder and laughing hysterically as Blake slammed the window shut on the Moderators who’d just now made it down to their level, dangling outside.
    “Time to run,” Blake said, turning from the window and dragging Tyler up to his feet.
    “Gotta make hay, right, Blake?” Tyler joked as he followed him and