Riku let the last line of bodies break and drag itself after the wail of the stolen cruiser. His board glowed a final tally—30MM: 109 | S-8: 24 | FUEL: 54%—and he eased the Ka-50 out of the kill lane with a shallow bank. He'd done what he needed: pulled the river of dead far off the girls' block and chewed down the ones with real legs. The rest would mill, stumble, and scream at sirens until dawn or until something louder invited them elsewhere.
Time to get off the stage.
He nosed the Black Shark back toward the district where the hunt had begun, keeping low along the river road to stop his rotor beat from pouring straight down the grid. As towers grew around him, he walked the throttle gently, every touch deliberate, like a big cat threading a fence line. Two blocks, three—the wharf cranes ghosted past in moonlit bone, then the office stacks softened into the familiar ridge line of the overpass where he'd first called the machine down from a ring of light.
