Elias reached out a hand, more instinct than a calculated move. He felt her flinch but kept his voice low. "Look, I get it. Out there..." He gestured vaguely back towards the wasteland, "everything's a threat until proven otherwise."
A muffled sob escaped her. He helped her sit against the tunnel wall, acutely aware of her closeness in the darkness. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," she whispered, the words edged with a despair that echoed his own.
A surge of protectiveness surprised him. He'd spent years relying only on himself, but there was a desperate vulnerability about her that cut through his carefully crafted defenses.
"What's your name?" Talking beat dwelling on the impossible events that had shattered their lives.
"…Kyra," she answered, voice hesitant.
He fumbled for his battered datapad, activating the low-level glow function. "Elias." He made a show of examining the screen, casting a sliver of light to break the oppressive dark.
Her face swam into view: tear-stained, smudged with grime, yet strangely delicate beneath it all. Nothing like the hardened street fighters he usually encountered.
He'd just opened his mouth to ask where she'd come from, how she'd triggered a power neither of them understood, when the distant rumble reached them. Not the organic groan of shifting earth, but the rhythmic thud of heavy boots on rusted metal.
His blood turned to ice. "Company," he hissed, shoving the datapad into his pack.
Kyra paled, her newfound flicker of hope snuffed out. "Corp goons?" The word dripped with hatred.
"Could be worse," he muttered. The elite enforcers moved with lethal efficiency, a well-oiled machine. This sounded more disorganized, but that didn't guarantee it was any less dangerous.
He chanced a peek around the tunnel bend. Pinpricks of light bobbed in the distance, accompanied by rough voices raised in argument. Scavengers, most likely, drawn like vultures by the energy surge. A nasty bunch, but manageable – if they were still alone.
"How many?" Kyra's voice was barely a whisper.
"Three, maybe four. Looks like they haven't spotted us yet…" He trailed off, the plan already forming in his mind. "Distraction?"
She blinked, her lingering fear focusing into a desperate sort of cunning. "I can try."
Before he could argue, she'd slipped back into the shadows. He heard a scuffle, then a startled yelp as she deliberately revealed herself further down the tunnel. The lights swung her way, the voices rising in a mixture of interest and bloodlust.
He didn't hesitate. Using the cover of darkness, he crept back the way they'd come, praying whatever Kyra was about to unleash would buy them enough time.
A guttural shout echoed, followed by a feminine shriek of fury. A blast of emerald light illuminated the distant bend of the tunnel, throwing monstrous shadows against the walls. Whatever Kyra was doing, it was bold as hell.
He ran.
Each footfall was a countdown towards a future he couldn't predict. Freedom, if they got past this new threat and found a way to control their terrifying new power. Or capture, experimentation, becoming nothing more than ghosts whispered about in the undercity, proof the system would crush any spark of rebellion.
He burst from the tunnel network, the wasteland air stinging his lungs. No time to admire the toxic sky, no time to plan. Just the desperate need to put distance between themselves and the fading sounds of the fight.
Survival first, answers later. It was a mantra he'd lived by for years.
Except now, he wasn't alone.
The wasteland stretched before him, a desolate expanse tinged with an eerie emerald glow beneath the toxic clouds. No sign of Kyra yet, but the distant sounds of the fight seemed to be fading. Good. Maybe her display had won them more time than he'd dared hope.
Each breath burned, a harsh reminder he wasn't augmented like the enforcers that would surely be hunting them soon. His legs screamed for rest, but he forced them onward. Weakness was a death sentence out here.
A flicker of emerald caught his eye. Not the pulsing magic, but a discarded energy cell, half-buried in the toxic sand. He scooped it up. Even partially drained, it might be enough to rig a crude trap or diversion later. Hope, however faint, was his most valuable weapon right now.
Movement, just a shadow at the edge of his vision. Kyra, sprinting across the rotted earth, her face a mask of strained determination. Behind her, two shapes lumbered, slower but relentless as the tide. Had the others been injured, or were these just the most persistent of the scavenging crew?
They hadn't spotted him yet. Their shouts focused on Kyra, their crude insults laced with a desperate need to assert control in this unpredictable new world.
His mind raced. Lead them astray? No, they'd double back to her once they realized. Direct confrontation was as stupid as standing still. He scanned the ravaged landscape, searching for anything that could give them an edge.
Then, he saw it: a half-collapsed ferrocrete pylon, its rusted bones jutting towards the poisoned sky. A gamble, but their best shot. He signaled Kyra, a quick chopping motion towards the pylon that she thankfully understood.
They split, forcing the scavenger goons to follow. He risked a glance back – both were closing on Kyra, clearly overconfident in their raw strength. Elias sprinted for the pylon, his plan relying on their arrogance as much as his own frayed nerves.
He reached the base, its metal still slick with something foul-smelling and acidic. He forced down the revulsion, scrambling onto one of the lower supports with practiced ease. Above him, loose wiring crackled, the remnants of whatever system this ruin was once a part of.
The scavengers reached Kyra. Elias watched in grim fascination as she danced out of their clumsy grasp, leading them closer to the pylon. Closer to his trap.
He focused on the exposed wires, the hum of contained magic buzzing through him. A jolt of fear-laced power shot along his arms, connecting him precariously to a potential weapon he had no idea how to control.
Just a few feet more…
Kyra stumbled, seemingly caught by the larger goon. Elias bit back a curse, then forced himself to trust her play.
With a final defiant gesture, she hurled herself towards Elias's hiding place. The goons roared in triumph and followed, right into the center of his makeshift trap.
"NOW!" he yelled, the word lost in the desert wind. It didn't matter. He willed the magic to surge, to connect.
A blinding flash ripped through the air, followed by the screams of the scavengers and a crackling that was louder than any natural thunder. He screwed his eyes shut against the fierce light, heart pounding. Had it even worked?
When he dared to look again, a smoking crater marked where the scavengers had stood. Kyra lay sprawled a safe distance away, looking dazed but unhurt. Their pursuers, though, were gone, reduced to little more than ash swirling in the wasteland wind.
The enormity of what he'd done – what they'd done – washed over him in a wave of sickness and an even more potent surge of adrenaline. This power coursing through him…it wasn't just a means of escape anymore.
It was the declaration of a war he was still figuring out how to fight.