Unlike the calm and composed sniper Trumm had been just hours ago, he now seemed more like a frantic coward, desperate and scrambling for a way to protect himself.
Few would believe this was the same man who had displayed such precision and control earlier.
Complaints poured from his lips incessantly as two shuttles chased him into a maze of derelict warehouses.
Revving his bike at high speed, Trumm raised the front wheel and smashed through the rusted doors of one warehouse, treating them as if they were mere speed bumps.
The interior was vast and stretched endlessly into darkness, the faint shafts of light from the holes in the roof doing little to illuminate the abandoned structure.
Yet, despite the pitch-black surroundings, Trumm made no move to activate the lights on his bike.
Contrary to logic, he preferred the darkness.
From a young age, he had possessed an extraordinary ability to see clearly in the dark, a talent that had often given him an edge in situations like this.
With his bike's lights off and the shuttles overhead firing red beams blindly through the roof, Trumm slowed his bike to a near halt.
The din of beams tearing into the structure provided just the cover he needed.
Taking out his sniper rifle, he aimed through one of the many gaping holes in the roof, his sharp eyes tracking the movements of one of the shuttles above.
"I swear, I'd rather dodge loan sharks all day than deal with this nonsense," he muttered, squeezing the trigger.
Bang!
The thunderous sound of the shot echoed through the decrepit warehouse as the armor-piercing bullet slammed into the shuttle's glass canopy.
As expected, the bullet caused fractures to spread across the glass, just as Messimah's earlier attempts had done.
However, unlike Messimah, Trumm wasted no time, immediately firing another shot.
Bang!
The bullet struck the exact same spot as the first, with impeccable precision. More fractures spread, spider webbing outwards.
Bang! Bang!
Two more shots followed in rapid succession, all hitting the same spot.
The precision was unnerving, even to the pilot, who could neither determine where the shots were coming from nor comprehend how someone could shoot with such unerring accuracy.
Feeling exposed, the pilot veered the shuttle away, attempting to escape Trumm's line of sight.
Silence followed.
For a moment, only the faint hum of the shuttles broke the quiet, as though Trumm had disappeared entirely.
Convinced that Trumm had lost his target, the pilot's confidence began to return—until a small metallic ball thudded against the weakened glass canopy.
Boom!
The explosion rocked the shuttle, further compromising the integrity of the glass.
Bang!
A fifth shot rang out, once again striking the same spot. The glass canopy now seemed on the verge of shattering entirely.
Panic overtook the pilot, who fired erratically into the warehouse, hoping to flush out his invisible assailant.
The second shuttle joined in, raining red beams into the building with equal desperation.
Then, two more metallic balls appeared.
Boom! Boom!
The explosions shattered the glass canopy completely. Before the debris had even settled, another shot pierced through, finding its mark in the neck of the now-exposed pilot.
With no one to control it, the shuttle spiraled downward, heading straight for the warehouse floor.
Trumm, waiting for this very moment, revved his bike and prepared to make his move.
Vroom!
The other pilot, stunned by the sudden and brutal death of his comrade, instinctively pulled back, unwilling to continue the pursuit.
But before he could retreat fully, the roar of a bike engine tore through the air.
In a daring move, a bike nearly identical to Trumm's shot forward and landed heavily on the shuttle's glass canopy, the impact causing a spiderweb of cracks to spread across the surface.
The rider was none other than Messimah, arriving just in time to save Trumm.
The shock of Messimah's appearance jolted the pilot, causing him to swerve the shuttle sideways in a panicked maneuver. The sudden movement sent Messimah's tires skidding off the cracked canopy, forcing him to drop back to the ground.
Before the pilot could regain full control of the shuttle, several metallic balls slammed into its side. The ensuing explosions shook the craft violently, sending it careening into the warehouse below.
Boom!
The crash ignited a larger explosion—far more devastating than the metallic balls alone could have caused. The warehouse erupted in a fiery inferno, obliterating the shuttle in its wake.
"Damn, there must've been active chemicals stored in there," Messimah muttered, speeding toward Trumm.
"Simah!" Trumm called out, elated to see him as though they hadn't just been separated minutes earlier.
"You good?" Trumm asked, trying to catch his breath.
"We need to move," Messimah replied curtly, ignoring the question. "The fortress above us has probably noticed their shuttles and pilots are out of commission."
As if on cue, Gola rejoined them, his bike kicking up dirt as he pulled alongside the duo. Without wasting another moment, the three sped off, regrouping and returning to their mission.
In a dimly lit room, illuminated by soft yellow lights just bright enough to navigate, seven individuals sat in imposing chairs that radiated authority.
A speaker embedded near each chair relayed a report.
"Commander, five of the mining guard shuttles have been neutralized. Either the pilots are dead, or the shuttles have been destroyed," A voice announced.
"Oh? Were the pilots careless?" A calm but confident voice asked.
"No, sir. They were chasing three boys on bikes and were outmaneuvered," The voice replied.
"Is that so?" The commander mused, his tone laced with intrigue.
A holographic recording flickered to life, projecting the events of the pursuit. The seven watched with varying levels of interest.
Some scanned the footage, hoping to find intriguing technology, only to be disappointed by the crude gadgets the boys employed.
Others, however, were drawn to the raw courage displayed—especially Messimah's near-suicidal maneuvers.
His audacity, bordering on recklessness, captivated nearly half the room.
"Fascinating," One murmured as the recording showcased Gola burying two shuttles beneath a collapsing tunnel.
"And this one," Another added, impressed by Trumm's impeccable sniper precision and ability to fire with such accuracy under pressure.
The hologram paused, and one of the individuals leaned forward, highlighting both Messimah and Trumm on the display.
"These two... I want them brought to me. With the right amount of discipline, they'll make excellent slaves."
"Should I deploy more pilots?"
"No," the commander said dismissively.
"Those mining guards are foolish amateurs. They're not equipped to handle this. I'll assign someone more capable. Focus on securing the resources on the ground."
"Yes, sir."
The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the hologram as the display powered down. "For the risk I'm taking in all this, don't you think I deserve to claim a few rewards for myself?" The commander asked, a playful smirk curling his lips.
The question hung in the air, more rhetorical than anything else.
Raising his hand from the armrest of his chair, the commander gestured toward the shadows. From the darkness, a figure emerged—a man clad head to toe in a grey Nano-tech suit.
This suit was unlike the skeletal bionic armor commonly seen in Jejity.
It clung tightly to the wearer, almost like a second skin, its surface glimmering faintly with advanced technology. The helmet was equipped with tinted visors, concealing the wearer's face entirely while providing optimal visuals.
"You're perfect for this," The commander said, his voice calm but dominating. "Bring the boys to me—alive."
The man in the Nano-tech suit nodded silently before disappearing back into the shadows.
"Using a Federation Officer to do your bidding now?" One of the seven remarked, their tone laced with curiosity.
"Before he is an officer of the Federation Force, he is a member of our clan," the commander replied dismissively. "Family comes before duty."
…
Nearly half an hour had passed since the last shuttle was dealt with, and Messimah and his crew remained on high alert.
They had expected more shuttles to come after them, bracing for another wave of pursuit.
Yet, the silence stretched on, an almost eerie reprieve from the chaos. It felt as though they had been abandoned, left to continue their journey undisturbed.
But none of them felt at ease.
The unsettling tension lingered, heavy and unshakable. Each of them sensed it—a foreboding presence, an invisible weight pressing on their spirits. They could tell something was coming, something inevitable, yet they couldn't predict when it would strike.
Hours passed, and the boys had managed to leave the city far behind, venturing deep into the desert.
The fortress in the sky and the bustling cityscape were now distant memories, their silhouettes fading with the night.
Despite their apparent escape, Messimah couldn't shake a growing unease.
His back was slick with cold sweat, his instincts screaming that something was wrong.
It felt as though unseen eyes had been watching, tracking them relentlessly for hours.
Messimah's gaze swept over the endless expanse of radioactive sands, searching for any sign of danger. The wide plain stretched out in every direction, barren and silent.
Yet, no matter how much he looked, he found nothing.
Why do I feel like this?
The question gnawed at him, unanswered.
Then, without warning, something caught his attention—a flicker of motion at the edge of his vision. Messimah turned just in time to see Trumm's bike swerve wildly, careening into Gola's.
The collision sparked an unexpected collision.
Boom!
An explosion erupted, splitting the silence of the desert and sending a shockwave through the air that flung Messimah off his bike…