Amstrad humors this police van and its fifteen armored, armed inhabitants for about ten minutes as they drive to the station. He notices the glowing handcuffs seem to be resistant to psychic force, so he can’t just snap them. After he musters the courage to move even though it hurts, he blows a hole in the side of the van and falls out.
   In the confusion and the fog and the thundering rain, they lose him on an overpass. He walks up into the haze of clouds and rain until they can’t see him and he can’t see anything.
   He sits down on nothing and waits in the primordial haze.

That’s what comes your way for trying.

“That ain’t so bad.”

   After an hour, he stands again.
   He limps home.