God rays.
They pierced through the leaves of the park. Volumetric fog rolled off the pond. For one second, the plastic trees looked real. Too real. I stopped the car. The suspect got away.
And somewhere, hiding in the sharpened shadows of the Lunar Launchpad, Rex Fury is waiting. He thinks he’s safe in the cartoon.
Let him hide. The shadows are mine now.
I can’t explain it. The bricks have grit.