1. Go to page 7 of your most recent WiP
2. Count seven lines down
3. Copy and paste the next seven lines of text
The box – basically a teched-up freight container – was destacked by a cranebot and set down before them in the storage facility's yard. Ronon glared at John and herded them into the container, closing the door with a clang. Dim lights powered up, and John snorted in amazement at the battered old pick-up – it dated from the age of fossil fuels, for fuck's sake, even if it had since been converted to solar. No antigrav, not even a detachable unit for emergency boosts or rough terrain. And no inertial dampeners – a real teeth-rattler.
John bent over and peered at one of the tires – oh man, real rubber. He reached out to touch it, but Ronon was suddenly on him, slamming him face-first into the side of the truck.
"He's a cop," Ronon growled, forcing his left arm up behind his back. It hurt like a motherfucker.