Sergeant Johnson shoved the door open. Tepid air redolent of fish sauce and incense washed out over them. Staring into the gloom, all Bell could make out was a dark corridor lit by a single naked bulb in a distant stairwell.
“Move, move,” ran through his mind, but “ah, fuck!” short-circuited the signal. Johnson was almost to the stairs before the message reached his feet. His first day on patrol and here he was following some Black Panther who probably despised his newbie white ass into a dark building looking for a fucking fugitive or something.
—From QL 4. Click here to read more.