The A.F.R. raid on Antitoi Entertainent (p. 485)
They, Them, Les Assassins des Fauteuils Rollents, A.F.R.s, the ones who come always in the twilight, implacably squeaking, and cannot be reasoned with or bargained with, feel no pity or remorse, or fear (except a rumored fear of steep hills), and now they’re all in here all over the shoproom like faceless rats, the devil’s own hamsters, moving with placid squeaks just beyond view of the shop’s mirrored peripheries, regally serene
Context
The A.F.R. in full mythic register, through Lucien's terror: implacability itself, with exactly one body-fact left in the legend — "(except a rumored fear of steep hills)," the single point where the wheelchair is still a wheelchair. "Faceless rats": facelessness again, the theme's through-line from Joelle's linen to the dead infant to the masked assassins, here as pure menace.