Above the van I kneeled forward and looked down at the stolen possessions. Maria's hand twitched and from inside her sleeve the metal cylinder sprung out and extended, slamming into my face and knocking me back as she sprinted off.
As I jumped off and began to dash after her, I felt a hand clasp around my shoulder. Jonathan spoke out calmly, "Jayden, we have bigger problems than a girl playing thief. If we don't get back to the station soon then it'll take us another week to get back to the tavern."
And he was right. As Maria vanished from my view I could hear the bells of the station in the distance. If we didn't make it there then we'd be in for one long journey.
So we darted. The thumping in my heart matched the way time slowed down around us while we picked up pace. Each obstacle in our way was easily passed as we darted down roads and alleys until the light broke through and we found ourselves in front of the station—except it was wrong.
The train was on its side, pried open with corpses hanging from its side leaking pools of fresh blood. The tracks and pillars of the station roared in red-hot flame as community support workers came to drag people away. The sound of fire engines grew louder as another train cart exploded.
I stood there as a body of a child flew across the sky, spinning, blood spraying out in a spiral as the body ragdolled to my feet. Glancing down at its fractured and torn body, I vomited and fell to my knees. A strong, violent burst as I felt everything gush out of me. I passed out.
When I woke up I was leaning against the side of a window shop. Jonathan crouched at my side looking to his right. The train had been put out, and the bodies were now gone, but the blood—the blood remained.
"It was a tragedy," he said quietly. "When the bells chimed, a train drove through the station over a hidden bomb. The mastermind of this damage seems to have vanished. Motive unclear."
I slowly leaned onto my knees and looked at Jonathan. "What now?"
"Nothing. I'm sorry, Jayden, but this is simply not our problem." He stood up slowly and glanced at the train once more. "Remember this—even heroes are unable to save everyone. People will die, people will suffer, and you alone can't solve it all. So don't help every stranger you see, and don't try to love every problem you encounter."
The words hung low. My body quivered as I lay back against the wall. Five seconds. No, maybe even one. If I had been one second earlier, would they have lived? The answer was yes. It was clear to me now that back then some could've survived, but Jonathan was right. We are not heroes, and even heroes have a limit.
"No."
Jonathan looked down at me. But he didn't speak. He looked up, and walked to the end of the road and down an alley. "Be quick, Jayden. If we dwell any further we'll never get back."
***
He lay under an oak tree, hand raised at the sky as if reaching for something. The scene was every writer's dream—the main character of their story, young and bold, making his promise, the promises he would keep till the end of his story.
That boy's story ended too quickly, axed by god like one does to a tree. He was my main character, my friend, my brother. Looking at him, I knew he would become great and save us all. I knew wrong.
My mother was sweet. She was not really my mother. Her name was Catherine, a 22-year-old mother of one. Her son Andrew was a fair-skinned boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. If you looked at these two, it was undoubtedly so they would be family—a kind and caring one at that.
Catherine worked for a group called C.H.A., a charity foundation created by Nexus after the Sky Bridges were permanently closed off. During her work she met me at the orphanage. I was small. I was fragile. I was young. I don't remember how old I was when I met her, but when I did I was happy.
She was a hard worker, me and the other kids knew. Every week a new kid was adopted, and every week a new one entered our home. It was only ever me who was adopted, and sent back, home to home, carer for carer. Catherine could never understand why a kid like me would be rejected. But I knew. It wasn't for something I did or something I had. It was for something I'd never do and something I lacked.
Catherine took her own life. I sat next to her corpse, the knife she held now red. I remember when it was yellow, covered in butter the day before. I vomited.
I blinked, and I was back in the passage of the sewer, Jonathan leading the way. Next stop, The King's Gambit, he had said.
It was larger, huge, colossal. There were so many words to describe this place, yet so little that could do it properly. Four large sections, a giant castle in the center. Each section was the size of a kingdom with districts and the lot. It was as if the world was pasted down below and unified. And yet, it seemed better in every way.
The loud sound of explosions burst my eardrums as what seemed to be a giant drill carved through the stone below, almost piercing me. But Jonathan pushed me out of the way, his body split in two.
My eyes were wide. Strange—now why did he die?
My legs twitched and my bionic hand gripped into the side of the drill, ripping the door off its hinges, swinging back round and piercing my bladed hand into the driver's neck. I could feel the vomit rising.
I picked myself up slowly, legs shaking. My eyes dropped to the two halves of Jonathan on the cold stone. Blood pooled dark and thick, steam rising in the chill air. Tears flooded out of my eyes, hot and relentless, running down my face. It was desperation—pure, choking desperation that made every breath feel difficult.
"Jonathan…" My voice cracked, barely a whisper. "You said don't play hero. You bastard."
The words tasted like ash. I wiped at my face with the back of my palm, but the tears kept coming. The King's Gambit loomed ahead, its colossal walls and glowing spires visible in the distance. Lights pulsed across the structures. I could hear the distant hum of life inside—voices, engines, and music—while my only friend lay in pieces behind me.
I couldn't stay. Not with those trucks coming. Not with whatever nightmare had just torn through our path.
I turned and rushed down through the alleys and narrow houses that bordered the outer districts. I pushed my power and time slowed at random intervals. I dodged clusters of pedestrians, their bodies caught mid-step. I leaped over stacked crates in one bound and slid under a closing security gate with inches to spare. My boots scraped against the pavement as I cornered hard, heart hammering loud in my ears.
"Come on, come on," I muttered between gritted teeth. "Just a little further. Don't stop now."
I kept moving through the side streets. At one point I passed an old market stall where a vendor was packing up goods for the night. I slowed time again and slipped past two arguing men blocking the path, then accelerated forward. I vaulted over a low wall into a backyard area and kept going without pause. My bionic arm worked steadily, helping me pull myself up and over obstacles. The arm whirred with each strong grip on brick or metal.
Finally, a large building rose up—an old administrative tower, its side marked with scaffolding and faded corporate logos. I didn't hesitate. I raised my bionic right arm, the grappling hook mechanism clicking into place with a hydraulic hiss. The line shot out, embedding deep into the stone near the top floor. I triggered the winch and was yanked upward fast, wind whipping past me.
Gravity fought back as the pull slowed near the top. I eased time down again just enough to give myself extra seconds to line up the next shot. The hook released, reeled in, and fired again higher up. Hand over hand, I kept climbing, slowing time in short bursts so I could adjust my path and keep moving. My shoulders burned. My lungs screamed for air. But I kept going, higher and higher, until I crested the edge and rolled onto the flat roof.
Panting, I crawled to the far side and looked down.
It was so far. Jonathan's body was impossible to see now—just a tiny smear of red on the distant ground. But I could make out the trucks that had stopped in front of it. Black military vehicles with reinforced plating and spinning red lights. People in weaponised black military armour climbed out. They moved with efficiency, lifting the halves of my friend, bagging them, retrieving evidence. Other trucks surrounded the drill that had caused the murder, spotlights sweeping the area.
The wind up here was cold, moving through my clothes. I sat on the very edge, legs dangling over a drop that could end everything. Thought back to Jonathan, the way he'd shoved me aside without hesitation. Maybe if I hadn't chased after Maria… Maybe if I hadn't gotten distracted by her quick hands and that desperate look in her eyes, we would've made it to the train station in time. Maybe if I had been more in shape, trained harder, pushed my limits further, we could've completed the mission earlier and avoided all of this.
I looked down over the edge. The streets of the King's Gambit sprawled far below with rivers of light and specks of people moving in patterns. If I stopped… if I were no longer able to make decisions… would the world be better off? Would all the people I cared about be better off? Maybe I could stop myself from messing up in the future. No more failures. No more blood on my hands.
I looked at my right bionic arm, the metal gleaming dully under the false sky lights. It felt heavier than ever.
I sighed, tilting my head up at the black cavern ceiling that passed for sky. Pinprick lights pretended to be stars. "Yea, yea… he would definitely add a return feature. If not, he'd figure it out."
I leaned forward, heart strangely calm. I kicked off the edge, smiling softly as I fell. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, but I didn't use my powers. No, this was just how I felt—reality's last attempt at getting me to think, to forget, to pull back. So I closed my eyes and fell.
The wind roared past.
My mind raced through memories as the air tore at my clothes. The way Catherine used to sit with me in the orphanage common room and talk about her day at the charity, describing the people she helped and the hope she tried to spread. Why did everything I touch end up broken?
***
Maria ran through the snow, boots crunching fresh powder with every step, her breath coming out in rapid visible clouds. The stolen wallets, phones, watches, and bracelet pressed heavily against her inner pockets, shifting with each movement and reminding her of the risks she had taken. She turned down a narrow alley between two towering residential blocks, hoping the shortcut would lead her faster toward the cheaper motels on the edge of the district where she could pay for a room in cash and disappear for a few days.
The decision proved to be a bad one.
She ran directly into the overweight man in the team jacket she had robbed earlier. His face shifted from confusion to pure rage within seconds as his eyes locked onto the wallet still clutched in her hand.
"Hey! That's my wallet in your hand, you little thief!" he shouted, voice echoing off the alley walls.
Two of his friends rounded the corner right behind him, their faces flushed red from the post-game drinks and the sudden chase. "Get her!" one of them yelled.
Maria spun immediately and sprinted back the way she had come, heart pounding hard in her chest. Shouts erupted behind her, growing louder as the men gave chase. Footsteps pounded heavily on the snow-covered ground. She spotted a parked van ahead and slid under it with barely any space to spare, the cold snow soaking through her hoodie and pants instantly. Instead of coming out the other side where they would expect her, she rolled sharply to the left, her fingers scraping along the ground until they found the raised edge of a manhole cover.
With a grunt of effort she heaved the heavy metal cover upward and let it drop aside just enough for her to slip down into the darkness below. She pulled the cover back into place with a solid metallic clang that echoed through the tunnel.
The sewage stench hit her immediately, thick and overwhelming, but she pushed forward without stopping. She ran through the tunnels, dirty water sloshing around her ankles and soaking her boots completely. She pulled out her tablet while still moving, the screen glowing faintly in the dim emergency lights spaced along the walls. She swiped quickly through the downloaded blueprints for the district's sewage system, her wet fingers leaving streaks on the surface.
A purple dot stood out clearly on the map. To the government-owned waste removal companies it was marked as a no-go maintenance point, permanently restricted. In reality it indicated hidden passageways that connected into deeper tunnels leading straight toward the King's Gambit. She decided immediately to head there.
Heavy jogging sounds echoed from multiple directions now, growing closer. Radios crackled loudly through the tunnels: "Suspect in sub-level grid seven. Nexus police en route. Non-lethal preferred—subject linked to prior incidents. Repeat, move in and contain."
"Shit," Maria hissed under her breath, picking up speed. Her legs burned from the long day of running and gliding, but she forced herself to keep going, turning corners sharply and splashing through deeper sections of water.
She reached the purple indicator after several long minutes—a reinforced hatch that looked like an ordinary utility panel from a distance. She yanked it open with both hands. From her pack she pulled the orange metal cylinder and slammed it firmly against her lower face. It activated with a quick hiss and expanded outward, forming a tight, sealed breathing mask that covered her mouth and nose. Cool, filtered air flowed in steadily.
She dove headfirst into the dark water right as bright flashlight beams swept around the corner where she had been standing only seconds earlier. Police boots splashed heavily into the tunnel, voices shouting commands.
Underwater everything became muted pressure and darkness. The orange device continued feeding her clean air in regular pulses, allowing her to swim hard despite the cold that seeped through her clothes. Her muscles burned with the effort as she pushed forward, searching along the tunnel walls. After what felt like several exhausting minutes she located a large panel. Bracing her feet against the opposite side, she used raw strength and the leverage from her collapsed staff to pry it open. She swam through the opening, then reached back and pulled the panel shut behind her as best she could before kicking forward through the long underwater tunnel.
The passage seemed to stretch on forever. Her arms and legs moved in steady rhythm, the mask keeping her alive while the water pressed in from all sides. She focused on the blueprints she had memorized, counting turns and distances in her head to stay oriented. Finally the tunnel began to slope upward. She broke the surface in a hidden cavern, gasping even with the mask still active. Water streamed off her drenched clothes and hair as she climbed out onto a solid ledge.
She retracted the orange mask with a click, letting it fold back into the cylinder form. From her position on the ledge she looked out over a vast, breathtaking view of the King's Gambit interior. Bright lights from countless buildings and walkways filled the space. Towering spires rose upward, connected by bridges and platforms. The distant roar of crowds, machinery, vehicles, and music echoed up from below like one continuous living heartbeat.
"Made it," Maria whispered to herself, voice hoarse from the cold and exhaustion. She crouched low on the ledge, scanning the view carefully. "Now what? Xander is somewhere in there. Lawrence is still a problem."
She stayed there for several long minutes, catching her breath and letting the water drip from her clothes while she planned her next moves inside the Gambit. The cold made her shiver, but she straightened her back and focused. She had cash from the wallets. She had her skills. She would find a way to regroup, stay hidden, and decide what came next.