Mannequin chain length

I didn’t finish my sentence.  Something constricted around my throat, fingertips digging into the windpipe, and the air ceased to flow.  I struck behind me, hoping to catch my attacker, but there was nobody there.

I realized what was happening too late, when my feet were hauled off the ground.  In the span of a second, I soared up six or seven stories, the counterweight to a nine-foot tall man in featureless white armor who plunged downward to land in a heap on the ground.

Mannequin.

He’d repaired himself this fast?  Did he have spare parts lying around?

I reached up and tried to wind my arm, wrist and fingers around the chain, to alleviate the pressure on my throat, and to give me a grip in case he decided to let go.

Mannequin hauled himself to his feet and the chain that stretched from his arm to the rooftop and back down to me made me bounce with every small movement.  He advanced on Amy, who backed away.

- Snare 13.2