Cyclone steps forward. “They need a firm hand, Commander.” He looms over the hellions. “Do what we tell you, or you die.” He makes a tearing motion with his hands. A hellion pisses at him, squirting a yellow-green stream of foul-smelling liquid that Cyclone barely avoids. The other hellions seem to snicker. Cyclone leans in, looking like he’s going to strangle them, but Raffe stops him. I step forward. Let’s see how they respond if they’re treated like I would want to be in their place. “Freedom,” I say. The hellions look sideways at me. “Escape.” I crouch down to look at them at their level.
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