The reality matrix along the border avenue of District Eight shuddered under the immense strain of active dimensional folding.
The wide four-lane road had split clean down the center into two parallel slabs of pavement, sliding past each other in opposite directions like tectonic plates.
Fissures of violet spatial energy crackled along the fractured curbs, vaporizing streetlamps and traffic signs into shimmering motes of light.
Dozens of fleeing residents were running toward the Citadel border, screaming in panic as the ground shifted beneath their feet.
"Keep moving north toward the fortress gate!" a militia sergeant shouted through a bullhorn, directing families away from the expanding sinkholes.
"Do not stop for luggage or abandoned vehicles!"
Trapped between the sliding planes, the white emergency ambulance was tilting at a terrifying forty-five-degree angle over the abyss.
