Smoke clawed at the sky, curling around the skeletal remains of buildings like a warning. Streets below burned in scattered pockets, and every alley seemed to host a new chaos experiment. I perched on a scaffolding above, tracing the patterns of panic as if I were reading sheet music. Every movement, every shout, every misplaced step became a note I could exploit later.
Crackling flames… distant screams… breaking glass…
Kara slipped through the chaos below, her movements precise, almost theatrical. The factions were spilling into each other like water in a cracked vessel. Confusion everywhere, predictability disguised as unpredictability. I noted the missteps: a flanking patrol moving too early, a gunner exposing his flank, civilians clustering where escape was impossible.
Rolling thunder of debris… shouts muffled through smoke…
I traced the flow of fire and bodies simultaneously. A trolley tipped over, flames licking its metal carcass, casting shadows that danced like mad puppets. From this vantage point, I could see the rebellion wasn't just chaos; it was a series of small, repeated mistakes magnified by adrenaline and fear.
Vehicles skidding… faint alarms in the distance…
I thought of the irony: the people believed they had control. They thought shouting and waving weapons meant power. Cute. The streets were a living organism now, unpredictable, but its heartbeat could still be sensed, measured, and manipulated. If I timed it right, the Veins below could turn their chaos into an advantage, feeding the fire they didn't know they were carrying.
A child stumbled past a barricade, eyes wide, clutching a scorched doll. Someone shouted directions she didn't need. Every micro reaction cataloged, every hesitation stored. And all the while, the rebellion was outpacing even my scripts, daring me to fall behind.
Soft clatter… distant footsteps… metallic hum…
Kara shot me a glance from below. Not a word, just the tilt of her head. I returned the gesture: observation acknowledged. She would act; she always did. But the real game wasn't down there it was here, in the patterns, in the gaps, in what they didn't see coming.
Smoke swirled, flames licked higher, and the city seemed to tremble under its own chaos. I pressed my palm against the cool metal of the scaffolding, feeling its pulse, thinking: a single spark could redraw this entire map. And when that spark hit, the streets wouldn't just be on fire they'd be my theater.
I exhaled slowly, letting the heat and smoke coat my lungs. The rebellion below thought it was theirs. I knew better. And that knowledge came with a quiet, delicious satisfaction.
"Progress, huh?" I muttered, voice drowned slightly by the roar. "They've mastered chaos without even a diploma."