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“You don’t have a choice.” The man tapped the tablet again. A grainy video played. A skater Leo knew—Mickey “No-Comply” Rourke, who’d vanished six months ago—was attempting a backside tailslide down a nine-story parking garage rail. He landed wrong. His femur snapped like a wishbone. The camera didn’t flinch. The filmer’s breathing was steady, professional. At the end, a gloved hand reached down and turned off the camera.
He took the camera.
“What the hell is this?” Leo rasped, straining against the ties.
The man smiled. “This is a negotiation. You’re going to film for me now.”
He didn't know if he was the filmer or the next scene in the pack. But he knew one thing: he was going to make sure the last thing that hard drive ever recorded was the janitor’s surprised face, right before the water tower trestle claimed its first real victim.
“You don’t have a choice.” The man tapped the tablet again. A grainy video played. A skater Leo knew—Mickey “No-Comply” Rourke, who’d vanished six months ago—was attempting a backside tailslide down a nine-story parking garage rail. He landed wrong. His femur snapped like a wishbone. The camera didn’t flinch. The filmer’s breathing was steady, professional. At the end, a gloved hand reached down and turned off the camera.
He took the camera.
“What the hell is this?” Leo rasped, straining against the ties.
The man smiled. “This is a negotiation. You’re going to film for me now.”
He didn't know if he was the filmer or the next scene in the pack. But he knew one thing: he was going to make sure the last thing that hard drive ever recorded was the janitor’s surprised face, right before the water tower trestle claimed its first real victim.