This isn't the time to tell him there's no crowd. Hell, this isn't the time for conversation, period. Good as it is to hear a familiar voice, he's wasting his breath, talking to me, and he doesn't have a lot of that to spare. With my right hand pressed to the gunshot wound, I lean over him, lifting him just enough to make use of my left to snap the chain linking the handcuffs together, my cyberkinetic arm making the task simple.

"Then you better be sticking around."