The Data Ghost Protocol
The body cam made him sick. Julian pressed his gloved fingers against the cracked plastic housing and the street flooded into him — not images, but experience. Heat. The smell of wet concrete and ozone. The weight of a service revolver in his pocket that he had been carrying for eight months and never fired. A woman's voice, sharp and terrified: "Please. I just want to go home." Then: a shove....
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