The low blue signalled the pursuit. High red sizzled flesh, turned pillars to ash not salt. Green were tracers. Lasers projected the police into the age of technological inferno.
The man ran. Unshaven; dark hair an array of organic pylons atop a Faraday cage of firing neurons; an electrical vortex of fear. He came to a dead end.
Greens.
Blues.
Reds sure to follow.
Three shadows against the piercing light, relativity shifted. A voice spiked with metallic zeal.
‘Halt Citizen’
He assented. The glow around the red cannons lens mesmerizing, beautiful in its dark potency.
‘Give us the package, Citizen’
©DJA 2018
From the Compendium of One Hundred Word Stories
The Angry Farmer 