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Scott emerged from the alley he had temporarily snuck into, bearing a sheet of trampled newspaperwhich he passed to Shane. He pointed at the headlines as several of the others came over to look:MASS BREAKOUT FROM KENSELTON HOTELTransworld project meets sudden endJust a day before it was to be opened to the public, the several thousand fictionalresidents of Kenselton Hotel staged a mass breakout onto the streets of Los Angeles.Police and army forces were called in to alleviate the chaos...Shane scanned through the rest of the article. "We've gotta hide," he said, looking up. "Anywhere buthere.""But we're armed," Johnny Utah pointed out, waving his gun for emphasis.Shane pointed at the article. "They're tranquilising unarmed escapees. If you wave a gun at them, Ithink they'll kill you.""Not if I kill them f-"The dart whizzed through the air and into his neck. Johnny grabbed at it, wide-eyed and choking, andthen crashed to the ground as the air suddenly became thick with flying tranquiliser darts.Cars and vans were pulling up now with uniformed guards jumping out of them and shooting as thegroup broke up and ran in different directions; Ludlow fired off several shots, ducking for cover, and gotthree guards down before another got him and he collapsed-The guards were efficient and unnaturally fast, unnaturally strong. They might have been the samerobotic entities that had populated Kenselton Hotel; they could not really tell, having no time to get agood look before the darts pierced them and they fell to the ground, and Scott, as he ran down the alleyin the mad panic of escape, did not dare to look back.Griffin ran his free hand over his handcuffed hand. "I still feel that," he said.**Dem shrugged. "That's just your sense of touch. Clock's ticking. At least it would be if there was aclock in here. An analogue one. Digital clocks don't tick, you see; they sort of just flash." Dem openedand closed his palm to illustrate the flashing. "And then there are sundials, which just kind of standthere."Griffin picked up the chainsaw. He looked at it. He took a deep breath. He looked at it. He looked atDem. Dem raised an eyebrow. Griffin looked back at the chainsaw, and shut his eyes.His free hand trembling slightly, he powered up the chainsaw; opened his eyes, blinked away a tear, grithis teeth, and brought it slowly down on his right wrist-He screamed in pain.Dropped the chainsaw, left hand clamping down on the gash on his wrist, stemming the spurting bloodbeneath grasping fingers, swearing, tears of pain flowing freely now-"Oh, wait," Dem said. "It was the cheddar that I spiked. I fed that to my lemming. Oh well. Don't worry.Chicks dig scars. Chickens dig bigger scars. That's why I sold my egg farm."The door burst open. Dem vanished as Alex and Julian hurtled into the room, Julian heading straight tothe bed and ripping the sheets off the upper bunk-"Rupert, go!" Alex shouted, and the teen reluctantly went forward, dropping to his knees and picking atthe handcuff with his piece of metal wire, fingers slipping on the blood until the handcuff came free andJulian sopped blood off the wound with the torn sheets, telling Griffin to press down on his wrist boneand hold his hand above heart level-"Lie down," Julian said. "Get on the floor, put your arm on the bed. It'll lower the blood flow."Rupert worked on the remaining handcuff and got it off.