"May the wind blow in your favor, the sky favor you, let the day honor you, and the world crown you. For the BlueJayS fly free."
Jayson recited the prayer under his breath, a hollow ritual for comrades long gone. He preferred the shadows of the ruins, but hunger and necessity had driven him into the neon-choked streets of Raze City. He kept his head low, moving through the convenience store with the practised ease of a ghost, grabbing enough supplies to last the journey across the border.
He was at the checkout, fingers brushing the crinkled packaging of his items, when the air in the store turned heavy. Five men and women stepped through the entrance, clad in matte-black tactical gear. The crimson Zeta symbol on their chests seemed to pulse like a warning light.
Jayson didn't wait for a confrontation. He snatched his bag and bolted for the back exit, slipping into a narrow, trash-strewn alleyway. Behind him, the heavy thud of boots told him the hunt was on. As the door hissed open again, the trackers found only an empty alley. Or so they thought.
Jayson dropped from the rusted fire escape like a shadow made flesh. He landed on the lead tracker, driving a pocket knife deep into the man's kneecap. As the soldier buckled, Jayson seized him by the head and drove his own knee into the man's jaw. The sound of shattering bone echoed off the brick walls. The tracker slumped, dead before he hit the pavement.
"One would think Viktor would send actual hunters, not a bunch of pathetic Project Z rejects," Jayson sneered. He wiped a spray of hot blood from his cheek, feeling the familiar, rhythmic thrum of the liquid against his skin—a power he wasn't yet ready to fully unleash.
The temperature in the alley suddenly skyrocketed. Jayson's eyes narrowed as he studied the remaining five. Two males, three females. One of the men began to glow, his skin turning a blistered, angry red.
Jayson pulled his custom cyber-mask over his face, the filters clicking into place. He stepped back, melting into the deepest shadows of the alley. Moving with near-perfect stealth, he reappeared behind a tracker at the far end. He reached for the man's throat, but the tracker was fast, slamming an elbow into Jayson's ribs. Jayson hissed, releasing his grip and vanishing back into the gloom before they could retaliate.
The group went into high alert, their unique abilities flaring to life. One man's hands erupted into twin torches; others summoned arcs of electricity or pulled the very moisture from the air into spinning, pressurised orbs of water.
Jayson targeted the water-shaper. He lunged from the dark, seized her arm, and twisted it until the bone groaned. He flipped her hard onto the concrete, but before he could deliver a finishing blow, a torrent of flame roared toward him. Jayson dove to the side. The fire collided with the water orbs, creating a sudden, blinding curtain of scalding steam.
He used the white-out to his advantage. He became a blur in the mist, taking the attackers down one by one with clinical precision. When the steam finally dissipated, only one remained: a female electricity-user.
Desperate, she drew power from the nearby transformer. The streetlights flickered and died, plunging the block into darkness as her eyes glowed with a static, predatory blue. Jayson didn't hesitate. He charged head-on, then dropped into a low slide, jamming his knife into her thigh. The electrical circuit broke, the blue glow fading as she collapsed. He rose, grabbed her neck from behind, and ended it with a sharp, sickening twist.
He retrieved his supplies and slipped away into the labyrinth of the city.
Minutes later, Jayson was in his safehouse, frantically shoving gear into a tactical bag. He knew the protocol—if a scout team didn't report in, Viktor would send a cleanup crew within minutes.
The first bullet shattered the window, followed by a rhythmic hail of lead that shredded the drywall. Jayson hit the floor, scanning the room for a way out. His eyes landed on the barrels of gunpowder in his makeshift lab. He grabbed a grenade from his kit, pulled the pin, and tossed it toward the dining room.
"See you in hell," he muttered, bursting out the back door just as the house vanished in a roar of orange flame.
He ran. His inhuman speed carried him toward the dark silhouette of the woods, but the pursuit was relentless. High-powered flashlights cut through the trees, and the sound of snapping branches surrounded him. He skidded to a halt in a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by silent, armed figures.
Jayson let out a long, frustrated sigh, his chest heaving. "You know, you guys could just let me go. I'll buy you all a bottle of beer if you're old enough. I'm not, so... maybe a bottle of Cola?"
There was no answer, only the cold click of guns loaded.
Jayson reached for his mask, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The hard way it is."