Cloaked in the darkness of the night and the deep shadows cast by the towering buildings, Messimah darted through the alleys with blistering speed. Yet, even his pace seemed insufficient as Gola's voice came through the earpiece with troubling news.
"Simah, Gaus's men are positioning themselves at the city exits."
"What? Why?" Messimah questioned, his mind racing as fast as his feet.
Before Gola could respond, Trumm's voice cut in, calm but urgent. "Simah, two men in skeletal suits are heading your way."
The tone in Trumm's voice and background noise suggested he was already on the move, which made sense—his last shot to cover Messimah's escape might have revealed his location.
"The cops?" Messimah asked, trying to assess the situation.
"I doubt it," Trumm replied. "More likely agents from other organizations looking to get their hands on the prototype."
"Understood. Find a secure location and keep feeding me intel on the incoming agents. Switch to live rounds instead of tranquilizers. If it's just the government after us, that's manageable. But as for these other greedy opportunists—they should be eliminated, not pacified. Don't give away your position unless you're compromised or my life is on the line. I'll handle the rest myself."
"Got it," Gola replied firmly.
With that, Messimah reached into his bag and pulled out the skeletal frames of the bionic suit meant for his arms.
As he moved, he swiftly assembled the components, his hands working with practiced efficiency. In a matter of moments, the frames were connected to the power source concealed around his waist.
Reaching into his jacket, he retrieved one of the modified guns Gola had provided. He disengaged the safety with a sharp click, then began to slow his pace deliberately.
Above him, two floors up, a closed window loomed, its glass a barrier to the dark interior beyond. Messimah raised the weapon, took aim, and fired.
The shot rang out, its sound muted by the suppressor affixed to the gun's barrel. Messimah dashed toward the wall, using its surface as a springboard to propel himself upward. With fluid movements, he ascended one floor, kicked off the wall again, and launched himself even higher.
In mere seconds, he reached the window, slipping through it into the building's dark interior. As he landed inside, the faint sound of mechanical footsteps echoed below—the agents Trumm had warned him about had arrived.
"In the building!" someone shouted from below.
The warning did nothing to slow Messimah's pace. Sprinting through the dimly lit corridors, he quickly located another window on the same floor, this one overlooking a different part of the alley.
This time, he didn't waste time aiming. Instead, he barreled through the glass, shattering it as he leaped out into the open air.
He fell freely toward the ground, rolling upon impact to absorb the force and minimize strain on the bionic skeletal supports wrapped around his legs.
Messimah barely regained his footing before swiveling to aim his gun at the window he had just exited.
"3, 2, 1…"
With lightning-fast reflexes, Messimah squeezed the trigger, firing at the first figure who lunged out of the window. Like him, the man's skeletal bionic suit lacked defensive armor, allowing the bullets to pierce his chest effortlessly.
Bang! Bang!
Without hesitation, Messimah fired two more shots, hitting the second pursuer before either could reach the ground. He didn't wait to see if they were still alive; instead, he sprang to his feet and sprinted deeper into the alley.
His first destination was the slums.
Though the government's reach extended across the entire city, the slums were a tangled web of chaos—perfect for vanishing into the shadows.
"Simah, ally drone incoming—grab on," Gola's voice crackled in Messimah's earpiece.
Within seconds, a smaller drone descended overhead, hovering just above him. Though more compact than the manned drone that had extracted him from the podium earlier, it was still powerful enough to carry his weight.
Messimah didn't hesitate.
He leaped up, grabbing hold of one of the drone's wings. Quickly holstering his gun inside his jacket to free his hand, he gripped the wing tightly, bracing himself for the ride ahead as the drone immediately scaled the 10 story building in front of him. It then began weaving through the buildings at that altitude.
This time, with the bionic skeletal frame to support his hands, holding on to the drone was much easier.
"Rocket incoming, Simah!" Gola's voice bellowed through Messimah's earpiece alerting him of the incoming danger.
Without a second thought, Messimah released his grip on the drone, landing heavily on the rooftop below.
Who the hell is firing illegal weapons so openly in the city—on a night like this?!
The question burned in his mind as he rolled across the roof, the impact sending sharp, protesting creaks through the metal of his bionic skeletal suit. The sounds weren't reassuring; they signaled the suit was nearing its breaking point.
This lighter, modified version of the skeletal frame was built for speed and agility, not durability.
While it could handle his rapid sprints, the repeated high-impact landings were pushing it to its absolute limit. The fact it hadn't given out already was a miracle in itself.
Boom!
A section of a nearby building across from Messimah erupted in flames as the rocket struck, sending a powerful gust of wind sweeping past him.
"Simah, another one incoming!" Gola informed.
This time, Messimah had just enough time to turn and spot the source. A few blocks away, on the side staircase of a taller building, three men in bionic skeletal suits stood armed with rocket launchers.
"Gaus's people," Messimah muttered, a flash of anger stirring within him. As much as he wanted to eliminate them, he knew wasting time on a confrontation wasn't an option.
His sole focus now was reaching the safe location.
A second rocket screamed through the air, but Messimah rolled swiftly across the roof, narrowly avoiding the explosion as it obliterated the edge he had been standing on moments before.
"Should I take them down for you?" Trumm's voice cut through the tension.
"No," Messimah replied firmly. "We'll ignore them."
"About a dozen more are already climbing toward the roof you're on. They're heavily armed with police-grade skeletal bionic suits and rifles. I can't tell if they're actual cops or just agents with deep pockets and connections. Are you sure you don't need backup?" Trumm reported, his tone edged with concern.
"What!?" Messimah exclaimed, barely suppressing his shock.
Why does this feel like overkill? Were they prepared for us all along? Messimah thought, his mind racing as he instinctively drew the guns concealed in his jacket. It was clear he would have to hold his ground until an opening to escape presented itself.
The high-pitched whistle of an incoming rocket reached his ears, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Boom!
The section of the roof where Messimah had just been erupted into flames, the explosion sending debris scattering into the night.
"Damn these bastards!" Messimah hissed, gritting his teeth. "Trumm, hold your position and don't engage unless my life is on the line. They seem focused on me for now, so let them concentrate their attacks on me. It's better that way."
"I've got it," Gola interjected, directing the drone Messimah had dropped from to engage the attackers.
The drone swooped towards the men, its side-mounted guns unleashing a torrent of bullets. Sparks erupted as the barrage hit its mark, triggering an explosion that sent the staircase crumbling beneath Gaus's men.
On the rooftop where Messimah crouched, seven of the dozen men had just reached the top, immediately opening fire in chaotic bursts.
They didn't even bother to locate him before unleashing their bullets, their reckless attack filling the night air with gunfire.
"Definitely not the cops," Trumm muttered through the comms, his sniper rifle aimed steadily at the rooftop. He was ready to take down any of the men the moment he deemed it necessary.
How in the world did they get here so fast in a city this big?
Messimah wondered, his mind racing as he crouched with his back against a steel box nearly five feet tall near the roof's edge.
He waited, guns at the ready, for the inevitable pause—the moment their bullets ran out. That moment came swiftly, signaled by the sharp click of empty magazines.
Without hesitation, Messimah leapt from cover, his guns blazing. His shots were precise yet relentless, quickly cutting through the chaos.
As he advanced toward the nearest man, he kept one gun trained on him, firing repeatedly to ensure he stayed down. His other gun fired erratically toward the others, forcing them to scatter and seek cover.
Seven here... Trumm said about a dozen. Where are the others? Hiding? Or maybe they got hit by that last rocket I dodged.
Messimah speculated even as he pressed the attack.
The men scrambled, fumbling with their weapons, unable to reload under the hail of bullets. Their suits, though superior in defense with reinforced components designed for police-grade bionic gear, weren't invincible. But without pinpoint accuracy, Messimah knew taking them down would be a challenge.
Even so, he kept moving, his strategy simple: keep them disoriented, keep them on the defensive, and don't stop until the threat was neutralized.
The closest man to Messimah crossed his arms in front of his face, using the skeletal frames on his bionic suit to block the incoming bullets. He was biding his time, waiting for Messimah to run out of ammunition.
But Messimah had no intention of falling into the same trap.
Abruptly, the stream of bullets stopped. Thinking his moment had come, the man lowered his guard, shifting his arms slightly. It was the opening Messimah was waiting for.
Bang!
Blood and brain matter sprayed across the rooftop as Messimah fired point-blank, the barrel of his gun just inches from the man's head.
As the lifeless body began to slump, Messimah moved swiftly.
He grabbed the police-grade rifle strapped to the man's shoulder and reached for the spare magazines, all while sidestepping and twisting the corpse. In one fluid motion, he positioned the body as a makeshift shield, its weight pressing against his back.
The remaining six men on the rooftop seized the opportunity to reload their weapons. Messimah, meanwhile, reloaded the stolen rifle with practiced efficiency, keeping himself covered.
For a moment, an uneasy stillness settled over the scene, as if everyone was waiting for an unspoken signal to act.
Messimah felt the dead weight of the suited corpse bearing down on him when suddenly—
Bang!
The shot didn't come from the men in front of him but from Trumm's sniper rifle. At the edge of the rooftop, two opponents had been creeping up, ready to ambush Messimah.
Trumm's precise shot pierced the neck of the first man before tearing through the wrist of the second, sending both of them plummeting to their deaths below.
Messimah exhaled sharply. "Nice timing, Trumm."
One shot, two dead.
That single shot seemed to signal the remaining men on the roof. Those still in hiding stepped out, opening fire in a chaotic frenzy.
Messimah could hear the relentless impact of bullets ricocheting off the armor of the corpse shielding him.
Then, from another corner, a sudden hail of armor-piercing rounds rained down on the half-dozen men. The precise barrage tore through their defenses, ending their lives in an instant.
Messimah lifted his head, scanning for the source. His eyes locked onto the smoking barrels of the drone's guns.
Bang! Bang!
Two more shots rang out from the distance. Trumm's sniper had struck again, eliminating the final two men who had been attempting to remain hidden.
With the immediate threat neutralized, the drone swung back toward Messimah, hovering just above the rooftop to pick him up.
"Let's fly closer to the ground this time, Gola," Messimah suggested as he grabbed onto the drone.
His tone was tense.
"Something's off. These bastards are too well-equipped tonight. It's like they're trying to obliterate me and everything I'm carrying. They don't seem interested in the prototype itself."
"Feels that way to me too—just like the way they're guarding the city exits," Gola agreed, his tone laced with suspicion.
"Do you think they've caught on to our plan?" Trumm asked, unable to shake the growing sense that they were being cornered.
"Highly unlikely," Messimah replied, his voice steady despite the tension.
"We've mapped out multiple escape routes from the city. Their efforts to guard the main exits don't matter if we actually wanted to leave. But leaving isn't in our plans just yet."
The thought gnawed at him.
The Crank Crew may not be the brightest, but they know the slums better than most. They should realize that blocking the main exits is pointless for us. Unless… they've stationed people at the hidden exits too, or worse, laid traps thinking we'd take those routes instead.
As the drone carried him to safety, Messimah's mind churned over the possibilities.
It wasn't long before he disembarked, this time without the urgency of dodging rockets. He landed quietly near his makeshift lab, his instincts sharpening as the eerie atmosphere enveloped him.
"Something's off," Messimah murmured, heading for a nearby building he often passed—a spot where homeless locals gathered around a bonfire to stave off the cold.
The fire was still lit, its flames dancing against the dark, but the absence of people was strange.
They never leave the fire unattended.
The silence in the area felt wrong.
Though the lab's surroundings were usually quiet, this was different—an unnatural stillness that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end…