The thudding continued. A door crashed open, skittering across the ground while Busters streamed out of the doorway.
"There they are!" a Buster called out.
Instead of the two Busters Ryne had seen down below, over a dozen stood ready to greet them. Most of the newcomers had various lethal modifications to their suits, taken from many labour Shells. The Buster in front of the pack clenched his armoured fists, shooting them forward like pistons with each clench.
Ryne sprinted towards the edge of the school building, gravity easing him down the wall as he caught his hands on ledges, windowsills, and anything else that allowed an efficient descent. Upon reaching the ground, a Buster stepped towards the ledge.
He held a ramshackle mechanical device and aimed it at them. A wild torrent of electrical energy blasted the ground between Ryne and Hank.
Dust and debris launched into the air, and Ryne felt a slight zap from the stream of electricity. He and Hank looked at each other with widened eyes.
"Fuck," they both said in unison.
With haste, they rushed to the concrete walls of the school boundary, scaled it, and rushed back into the realm of rooftops, their movements propelled by fear.
As they disappeared into the shadows, the echoes of the Busters' voices grew louder, their rage reverberating through the abandoned corridors. Ryne ran, his heart pounding in rhythm with his footsteps, leaving behind the remnants of art and the promise of a fleeting beauty that could forever remain hidden from the world.
Hank motioned his hands towards his rear.
"I think I almost shit myself!"
Ryne raised his finger to his lips and Hank continued laughing quietly.
"I felt like I was going to projectile vomit all over the guy with that... gun?"
They made their way back through the dimly lit streets of Fracture, a sudden sense of unease tingling in the air.
"They've stopped following us?" Hank asked, slowing down to view their surroundings.
Sure enough, the sounds of footsteps, yells, and clanging metal had ceased.
Then, as if their fears materialised before their eyes, a group of Busters emerged from the shadows. Fear shot through Ryne's veins like a bolt of lightning, worse than that little zap from before.
"What have we got here? Two mice trapped in our cage!" a Buster yelled, swinging around the robotic arm of a shell, fashioned into a weapon.
"What should we do with these two little mousies?" another asked.
"We'll have to split up," Ryne whispered to Hank.
"I'll meet you at Rickson's rooftop," Hank replied quietly.
Without hesitation, they turned in opposite directions and bolted. Their parkour skills propelled them forward, their bodies merging with the decayed urban landscape. The chase began.
Ryne became the hunted, his every breath punctuated by the urgency of escape.
Despite being mice trapped in a maze, these mice knew the ins and outs of the maze better than the snakes chasing them.
The pounding of Ryne's footsteps echoed through the desolate streets, mingling with the menacing growls of the pursuing gang members. Their robotic suits clanked with each step.
Ryne maneuvered through narrow alleyways, leaping over debris, and vaulting over obstacles with unparalleled skill. Every agile movement set the distance between him and the Busters back as they struggled to replicate his movements. The darkness of the night worked in his favour, providing momentary cover as he weaved through the labyrinthine paths of Fracture.
As he sprinted, his heart pounding in his chest, the sound of his pursuers grew fainter. Ryne managed to outpace them, evading their grasp for the time being. Breathing heavily, he slowed his pace, seeking a momentary respite in the shadows.
Hank leaned against a crumbling wall, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his forehead. As Hank wiped the sweat towards his hair, his paint-stained hands mixed a variety of colours into the wetness, staining his face like abstract stained glass. He clutched his side.
"Your injury?" Ryne asked.
"Yeah. It's fine. I'll be alright in a second."
Ryne glanced back, scanning the deserted streets for any signs of the Busters. Wind flowed through the alley, and a ghostly whisper followed as a chill ran across his skin.
"Are we good this time?" Hank asked, almost toppling over.
Ryne listened. Behind the sound of creaking wood, crumbling concrete, the wind, and the distant hum of Nova City, the world remained silent. No grouped footsteps, no shouting, nothing. A still silence. A comforting silence.
"I think so. They're gone, at least for now," Ryne gasped, his voice laced with relief.
Hank nodded and an expression of exhaustion, pain, and satisfaction settled on his face.
"We did it, dude," Hank exclaimed, his voice a whisper of triumph. "We left our mark, despite the odds."
"Well, you left our mark, not me. And as always, you did a wonderful job."
"Right? But it really was a group effort this time, and I think I outdid myself today!" Hank stood, his hands on his hips while he caught his breath.
"You did, but let's not come back here for a while, yeah?"
"I think that would be best," Hank replied, laughing quietly and wincing with each laugh.
"I don't think we should stick around. We need to get back to headquarters before they can regroup and come after us again."
Hank nodded, and they resumed their journey, their pace cautious yet swift. They took alternate routes, avoiding major thoroughfares and choosing the lesser-known and used paths. Their familiarity with the city's hidden nooks and crannies became their greatest advantage.
With the worst behind them, they made their way back toward the apartment complex. The night sky offered a canopy of stars, watching over them as they retraced their steps through the streets of Fracture.
As Ryne jumped from one rooftop to another, a ringing, the same one from earlier, filled his ears. This time, a voice followed it.
[You have thirty days until the apocalypse begins.]
A sharp pain shot through his body, throwing his movements off course.