The slums pulsed with sirens.
Mikey sprinted down the alley, his breath ragged, his boots thudding in rhythm with his racing heart. Just ahead, he caught a glimpse—Luce, Bobo, and Elliot turning a corner, their silhouettes slipping past the glow of a roaming drone.
He followed at a distance of a hundred feet, ducking behind rusted crates and crumbling cement slabs. The shadows were his ally, but so was desperation. He couldn't lose them.
They reached the junkyard—a graveyard of twisted metal and gutted vehicles. The trio crouched low behind a wooden crate. Mikey stayed back, pressed against the splintered frame of a half-collapsed building.
He risked a glance.
Good... they're almost there.
According to that Elliot guy, the guards should've already rotated out.
So why aren't they moving
What's the hold-up?! I'm out here with my ass in the wind!
Then—
Footsteps.
Heavy, deliberate.
Mikey ducked behind the wall, breath held. A sliver of movement caught his eye. He leaned just enough to see—
A Council soldier, armored and alert, stalked into view. His visor glinted under a passing spotlight as he neared the three unaware rebels.
The soldier's voice crackled through his earpiece.
"Got some movement. Junkyard 4."
He raised his rifle.
Mikey's heart dropped.
No… not like this.
His father's smile—worn and proud—flashed across his mind.
I won't let anyone else die…
The rifle clicked as the soldier chambered a round.
"RAHHH!"
Mikey exploded from cover like a bullet, charging across the alley. The soldier turned—too slow. Mikey slammed into him with full force, the two of them crashing into the dirt alley across the street.
"What the—"
They hit hard. Mikey gripped the rifle but the soldier's training kicked in. A brutal elbow to Mikey's jaw knocked him sideways. The soldier rolled on top of him, snarling, and cracked him with a punch that blurred Mikey's vision.
The muzzle of the gun pressed against his temple.
Time slowed. Mikey's breath hitched.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
He jerked the barrel aside just in time. The shots went wide, slamming into the dirt beside his head, spraying rocks and dust across his face. His ears screamed. Dirt blinded him.
But he moved.
Through instinct, not thought, he surged up, driving his palm into the soldier's chin. The helmet rocked back, exposing skin. Mikey drove his foot upward and kicked the man off.
They sprawled apart. The rifle clattered between them.
Mikey dove.
The soldier did too.
They grappled for the weapon, rolling in the grit. Mikey pressed his weight down, but the man was stronger. He elbowed Mikey across the nose, but Mikey fought through it. Blood streamed, but so did adrenaline.
He roared, twisting the rifle free, and slammed an elbow into the man's face—hard. Cartilage cracked. Mikey straddled him, weapon shaking in his grip as he aimed at the soldier's face.
The soldier's hands lifted. His visor clicked off. Underneath, a man—barely older than Desmond—bleeding from a broken chin, eyes wide with fear.
"Please," he gasped. "I have a son..."
Mikey froze.
Last night.
Bobo's voice.
"Could you kill that man? Even if he begged?"
Back then, Mikey had answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
But now, face to face with the life he was about to end, his hands trembled. His throat tightened.
I thought I could. I thought I had to.
The gun trembled in his grip.
He swallowed hard. Then slowly, he rotated the rifle—handle first.
"Sorry," he whispered.
With a swift motion, he brought the stock of the gun down against the soldier's temple.
THWACK
The man crumpled into unconsciousness.
Mikey exhaled, shaking, sweat pouring down his back. His pulse thundered in his ears.
He wasn't sure if he'd made the right choice.
But at least—for now—he could still live with it.
Mikey's heart pounded as the sound of approaching soldiers filled the air. The gunshots hadn't gone unnoticed. He could hear the alarm blaring in the distance, escalating the chaos. Boots thundered against the pavement, their footsteps a promise of imminent danger.
Dammit.
I can't let them catch me.
He scanned his surroundings, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The soldiers were closing in fast.
Yes!
A ladder. Down the alley, just a few feet away. Mikey bolted for it, pushing off the ground with all his speed. The heavy sound of boots getting louder with each step, as if they were right on his tail.
"There! Stop him!"
Mikey's pulse shot up. He didn't look back. He grabbed the ladder's rungs and yanked himself upward, but his eyes went wide in horror as the ladder ended abruptly halfway up.
Shit!
A bullet zinged past, clipping the metal rung, narrowly missing his hand. Mikey's mind raced. The soldier was right there. He had seconds before they closed in.
The pistol!
His fingers fumbled for the stolen weapon. He pulled it out and fired a shot into the dirt. The impact kicked up a cloud of dust, blinding the soldiers momentarily. They fired wildly, but Mikey could hear their aim scatter.
His eyes darted left. The window of an adjacent building—a perfect escape route. It was high, but Mikey was nimble. He aimed the pistol and fired, the glass shattering with a sharp crack. He threw the gun inside, and then, with no hesitation, he pushed his sleeves up and wrapped them tightly over his palms to shield them from the jagged glass.
With a grunt, he bent his knees and leapt—his hands barely grabbing the edge of the window. Glass bit into his sleeves as he hoisted himself through the opening.
THUD
He dropped into the room.
The room was dim, the walls chipped and peeling. It was bare, save for a family of four huddled in the corner, eyes wide with terror. Mikey barely noticed them, his focus only on the door ahead.
"Sorry!" he shouted as he bolted toward the exit. He flung open the door and rushed through it, up the staircase.
The roof was his next goal. As he pushed the door open, the cold night air hit him, and he squinted against the blinding spotlights overhead. The drones hummed in the distance, their searchlights sweeping the ground, while soldiers scoured the area below.
How the hell do I get down there?
He scanned the rooftop, then spotted Bobo, Luce, and Elliot disappearing around a corner—presumably heading to the junkyard. In that moment, panic set in.
They're gone!
Shit, I lost them!
His stomach churned. The only thing left was to make sure they didn't get away from him.
Suddenly, his gaze fixed on a drone flying near the edge of the rooftop. It hovered just above his head, a little over four feet off the ground.
I've done this before. I can do it again.
Mikey's lips curled into a grim smile.
Hitching a ride.
He took a few steps back, held his breath, and sprinted toward the edge of the roof. As he reached the ledge, he leapt, arms outstretched, and landed on the drone with a thud.
The drone dipped slightly under his weight, but it steadied out quickly, its flight leveling off. Mikey wrapped his legs and arms around it, locking himself into place.
From thirty feet above the ground, Mikey saw it all—the soldiers beneath him, Bobo in the corner of the junkyard, lifting a car. Mikey's eyes locked on Luce and Elliot. Luce was crouched beneath the car, typing frantically on a panel. A hatch opened, and they began to disappear inside.
That's the tunnel.
Mikey's heart raced.
I know where they are.
The only problem now? He was still thirty feet in the air. But, as luck would have it, there was a pile of scrap metal just below him. If he could drop there, he might have a chance to get down quietly.
Easy... Easy...
He guided the drone, his fingers slipping against the cold metal, directing it to the pile. His stomach twisted with nerves as the ground drew closer.
Just a little more...
He released his grip, feeling the drone's weight shift as it descended. He braced for impact—THUD.
The noise was louder than he expected. The metal piled beneath him rattled, clanging with a violent noise. Mikey tumbled, crashing into the scrap, banging against sharp edges and rough surfaces.
"Ow..."
He groaned, rolling away from the pile, only to hear the unmistakable sound of boots pounding the ground
No! No! No!
He was out of time.
Bullets zipped past him as he sprinted through the junkyard. The soldiers had seen him. Their shouts echoed in the night air. Mikey veered between piles of debris, moving fast, his adrenaline pushing him forward.
There it was. The car.
He was close. He ran for it, the sound of soldiers gaining on him. The hatch was open, just like before. He slid under the car with all the speed he could muster.
His feet barely touched the ground as he crawled inside, his body sliding down the ladder. He grabbed the rungs, barely catching himself. He looked out through the hatch, the boots of soldiers passing mere feet away. The light from their flashlights glinted off the metal of the car.
Please…
He lowered his head, closing the hatch as quietly as he could.
Mikey dropped from the hatch and landed hard on a metal grate, the impact rattling through his legs. The tunnel stretched ahead of him—long, narrow, and echoing with the metallic clatter of his footsteps. Steam hissed from unseen vents in the walls, and the hum of generators somewhere deep beneath the surface throbbed in his bones.
He didn't see Bobo, Luce, or Elliot.
Please still be here…
His heart hammered in his chest, lungs aching as he pushed forward, sprinting into the darkness. The farther he ran, the louder his thoughts became—panic creeping up his spine.
Don't be too late.
Not now.
After what felt like an eternity, the tunnel curved sharply. As he turned the corner, his boots skidded slightly on the slick floor. Then—there. At the far end of the walkway, a ladder rose into a shaft of faint light pouring through an open hatch. He could hear voices above—low, urgent, and fading.
He didn't hesitate.
Gun in hand, he sprinted the last stretch, jumped onto the ladder, and scrambled upward. Every clang of his boots on the rungs echoed like a war drum.
Then—
"RAH!!!"
He burst out of the hatch like a fired bullet.
Ocean air slammed into his face, cool and briny, carrying with it the sound of churning water and distant engines. He stood on a small concrete platform, surrounded by dark waves and the endless, ink-black sea. The sky above was a hazy dome of grey, storm clouds roiling like they were watching him.
Mikey had never seen the ocean before. The scale of it nearly froze him.
But there was no time to gawk.
There—just ahead—a speedboat was pulling away from the platform, engines revving. A blur of figures moved on deck: Bobo at the back, Luce by the controls. Spray kicked up behind them as the boat began to speed away.
They hadn't left yet.
I can make it.
I'm not done.
He broke into a full sprint, lungs burning, shoes slamming against the concrete. Just as he reached the edge, he collided with Elliot—knocking the man aside without slowing down. Elliot's surprised grunt barely registered.
Mikey launched himself into the air, arms wide, the wind tearing past his ears.
"WAIT FOR ME!!!"
The world slowed for a moment. Suspended in the space between failure and reunion, he soared.
And then—impact. Cold spray against his face. Hands catching the boat's edge. Grunts. Gasps.
Mikey had made it.
He'd finally caught up.