the smuggler’s bible

Minoru

Minoru steps off the elevator and takes just one second to pluck at a shirt sleeve, then heads across the lobby to the front doors.

Jaws drop. Heads turn at such velocity that cervical vertebrae flex and deform. Bodies fall to the floor with sheared spinal cords. Carnage. And all this before Minoru puts on the sunglasses.

They have to double park the ambulances to fit the whole fleet. The mayor makes a speech later. All the survivors can say—shaking, wrapped in foil emergency blankets—is but, like, who was that? Do you know them? Can you introduce us?