The world was a symphony of chaos.
A searing bolt of gravitic energy, a purple-black distortion of the air itself, ripped past Miles's head, fired by VoidRipper from the opposite rooftop.
It slammed into the wall behind him, and a five-foot-wide chunk of simulated concrete was simply torn away, crumbling into a shower of digital dust.
From the alley below, a hail of plasma bolts, the signature weapon of the Diamondbacks, shot upwards, forcing them to scramble for cover behind the low parapet of the roof.
"Okay, new plan!" Leo squeaked, his face pale as he peeked over the edge of the roof.
"We die!"
"It's a simple plan!"
"Very efficient!"
"I like it!"
Miles gritted his teeth, his mind racing, his system screaming a constant, frantic stream of threat analyses and evasion probabilities.
[INCOMING ATTACK: VECTOR 3. PROBABILITY OF IMPACT: 87%.]
[INCOMING ATTACK: VECTOR 1. PROBABILITY OF IMPACT: 92%.]
