Through the horror of its apeirogon hypercognition, the aperiodic tessellated labyrinth of the asynchronously flaring MIMD units that resemble the tensor arithmetic of its thoughts, you can see Gnadenfrei igniting a strange point of light in the middle of the crowd and the firefight. It looks like an impossible luminous blue sphere, a levitating, gaseous puncture hole.
For a moment, the battle pauses, comes to a heart-wrenching stop and standstill. The Knife Sisters
>>5393415 and the assault team watch agape, weapons awkwardly raised and half swaying in the air, crouched and sprawled, entrenched in living cover, or dying upon bullet-ridden ruins.
