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Al

Al backflips the squad car. They land in a wheelie and scream off the wrong way down the street, dodging commuters.

Porter grabs her collar as they roar around a corner; a second later somebody punches the shit out of the hood, and they crash out through the roof. She grabs the streetlight. It bends but stays up, and Porter keeps his grip on her shirt. The radio he ripped from the dash is burbling.

“Think fast,” he mutters, dangling, looking down at the people taking up Crane Stance. “The cops are onto us, and this is a kung fu crowd!”

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