He waited until the first sedan’s window rolled down. A glint of a gun barrel.
The vial was small, lead-lined, humming with a faint coldness. Compound 7-G . Not street junk. This was pure, unlicensed neural catalyst. He unscrewed the cap, fitted the auto-injector to his carotid, and pressed the button. driver tweaker
Silence.
He pressed the injector to his neck. The rain turned to diamonds. The road turned to light. And Leo, the last true centaur of the interstate, smiled. He waited until the first sedan’s window rolled down