Predator Concrete Jungle 9

He couldn't afford the time to look at it, not when it was as fast as it was. Schaefer threw his weight forward onto his hands and dove a boot upward at the thing's belly-and if he fell short and caught it in the crotch, he wouldn't mind that, either. He didn't catch it anywhere; a clawed hand caught him, instead. Black talons locked around his ankle before his foot had covered half the distance he had intended, and the glow of the streetlights outside sparkled off jagged-edged blades that projected from the complicated band of gadgetry on the thing's wrist.

Before Schaefer could even begin to twist, to struggle, to try to escape, the thing picked him up by that one leg and flung him away. It moved impossibly fast, but with casual ease and grace, as if this was nothing for it, as if it wasn't even trying. Then Schaefer slammed into the wall and stopped noticing details; he heard plaster and lath crunch on impact, and for a millisecond or so he hoped that he hadn't heard any of his bones breaking. Then his head snapped back and hit an exposed stud, and he wasn't able to hope anything.-pg.69 chpt.8