Clara pulled out a large bundle of thin black fabric and light framing, discarding her backpack and unfolding the unit into a large triangle. She pulled straps over her shoulders, attaching it securely and turned to grab Randal. Already guards were scrambling for the rooftop, trying to pull themselves up. Others were running to the far side, looking for vantage points to open fire.

Randal was dizzy and sweaty, his body now shutting down from the torture, malnutrition, and nanaline overdose. “I think you’re going to have to help me,” he said, as Clara strapped him in behind her back.