The slums pulsed with sirens.
Mikey sprinted down the alley, his breath ragged, his boots thudding in rhythm with his racing heart. Just ahead, he caught a glimpse—Luce, Bobo, and Elliot turning a corner, their silhouettes slipping past the glow of a roaming drone.
He followed at a distance of a hundred feet, ducking behind rusted crates and crumbling cement slabs. The shadows were his ally, but so was desperation. He couldn't lose them.
They reached the junkyard—a graveyard of twisted metal and gutted vehicles. The trio crouched low behind a wooden crate. Mikey stayed back, pressed against the splintered frame of a half-collapsed building.
He risked a glance.
'Good... they're almost there. According to that Elliot guy, the guards should've already rotated out. So why aren't they moving? What's the hold-up?! I'm out here with my ass in the wind!'
Then—
Footsteps.
Heavy, deliberate.
Mikey ducked behind the wall, breath held. A sliver of movement caught his eye. He leaned just enough to see—
A Council soldier, armored and alert, stalked into view. His visor glinted under a passing spotlight as he neared the three unaware rebels.
The soldier's voice crackled through his earpiece.
"Got some movement. Junkyard 4."
He raised his rifle.
Mikey's heart dropped.
'No… not like this.'
His father's smile—worn and proud—flashed across his mind.
'I won't let anyone else die…'
The rifle clicked as the soldier chambered a round.
"RAHHH!"
Mikey exploded from cover like a bullet, charging across the alley. The soldier turned—too slow. Mikey slammed into him with full force, the two of them crashing into the dirt alley across the street.
"What the—"
They hit hard. Mikey gripped the rifle but the soldier's training kicked in. A brutal elbow to Mikey's jaw knocked him sideways. The soldier rolled on top of him, snarling, and cracked him with a punch that blurred Mikey's vision.
The muzzle of the gun pressed against his temple.
Time slowed. Mikey's breath hitched.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
He jerked the barrel aside just in time. The shots went wide, slamming into the dirt beside his head, spraying rocks and dust across his face. His ears screamed. Dirt blinded him.
But he moved.
Through instinct, not thought, he surged up, driving his palm into the soldier's chin. The helmet rocked back, exposing skin. Mikey drove his foot upward and kicked the man off.
They sprawled apart. The rifle clattered between them.
Mikey dove.
The soldier did too.
They grappled for the weapon, rolling in the grit. Mikey pressed his weight down, but the man was stronger. He elbowed Mikey across the nose, but Mikey fought through it. Blood streamed, but so did adrenaline.
He roared, twisting the rifle free, and slammed an elbow into the man's face—hard. Cartilage cracked. Mikey straddled him, weapon shaking in his grip as he aimed at the soldier's face.
The soldier's hands lifted. His visor clicked off. Underneath, a man—barely older than Desmond—bleeding from a broken chin, eyes wide with fear.
"Please," he gasped. "I have a son..."
Mikey froze.
Last night.
Bobo's voice.
'"Could you kill that man? Even if he begged?"'
Back then, Mikey had answered without hesitation.
'"Yes."'
But now, face to face with the life he was about to end, his hands trembled. His throat tightened.
'I thought I could. I thought I had to.'
The gun trembled in his grip.
He swallowed hard. Then slowly, he rotated the rifle—handle first.
"Sorry," he whispered.
With a swift motion, he brought the stock of the gun down against the soldier's temple.
THWACK
The man crumpled into unconsciousness.
Mikey exhaled, shaking, sweat pouring down his back. His pulse thundered in his ears.
He wasn't sure if he'd made the right choice.
But at least—for now—he could still live with it.
Mikey's heart pounded as the sound of approaching soldiers filled the air. The gunshots hadn't gone unnoticed. He could hear the alarm blaring in the distance, escalating the chaos. Boots thundered against the pavement, their footsteps a promise of imminent danger.
'Dammit. I can't let them catch me.'
He scanned his surroundings, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The soldiers were closing in fast.
'Yes!'
A ladder. Down the alley, just a few feet away. Mikey bolted for it, pushing off the ground with all his speed. The heavy sound of boots getting louder with each step, as if they were right on his tail.
"There! Stop him!"
Mikey's pulse shot up. He didn't look back. He grabbed the ladder's rungs and yanked himself upward, but his eyes went wide in horror as the ladder ended abruptly halfway up.
'Shit!'
A bullet zinged past, clipping the metal rung, narrowly missing his hand. Mikey's mind raced. The soldier was right there. He had seconds before they closed in.
'The pistol!'
His fingers fumbled for the stolen weapon. He pulled it out and fired a shot into the dirt. The impact kicked up a cloud of dust, blinding the soldiers momentarily. They fired wildly, but Mikey could hear their aim scatter.
His eyes darted left. The window of an adjacent building—a perfect escape route. It was high, but Mikey was nimble. He aimed the pistol and fired, the glass shattering with a sharp crack. He threw the gun inside, and then, with no hesitation, he pushed his sleeves up and wrapped them tightly over his palms to shield them from the jagged glass.
With a grunt, he bent his knees and leapt—his hands barely grabbing the edge of the window. Glass bit into his sleeves as he hoisted himself through the opening.
THUD
He dropped into the room.
The room was dim, the walls chipped and peeling. It was bare, save for a family of four huddled in the corner, eyes wide with terror. Mikey barely noticed them, his focus only on the door ahead.
"Sorry!" he shouted as he bolted toward the exit. He flung open the door and rushed through it, up the staircase.
The roof was his next goal. As he pushed the door open, the cold night air hit him, and he squinted against the blinding spotlights overhead. The drones hummed in the distance, their searchlights sweeping the ground, while soldiers scoured the area below.
'How the hell do I get down there?'
He scanned the rooftop, then spotted Bobo, Luce, and Elliot disappearing around a corner—presumably heading to the junkyard. In that moment, panic set in.
'They're gone! Shit, I lost them!'
His stomach churned. The only thing left was to make sure they didn't get away from him.
Suddenly, his gaze fixed on a drone flying near the edge of the rooftop. It hovered just above his head, a little over four feet off the ground.
'I've done this before. I can do it again.'
Mikey's lips curled into a grim smile.
'Hitching a ride.'