Chapter 3: Streets of Pursuit
Newt snatched up his still-rattling suitcase and burst from the bakery's back door into the service alley, Jacob stumbling behind him, still clutching the rolling pin. Sam, ever the anchor of calculated pragmatism, brought up the rear, his eyes already scanning the rooftop silhouettes.
The alley, reeking of stale garbage and wet wood, connected to a wide avenue. As soon as they hit the street corner, they saw her: Tina Goldstein, MACUSA Auror, her coat dark and heavy, her stance coiled and ready. Her suspicion, already ignited by the magical disturbance, was now focused entirely on the three men fleeing the scene.
"Stop, in the name of the Magical Congress of the United States of America!" Tina's voice was crisp, authoritative, cutting through the morning city noise.
Other Aurors immediately appeared, emerging from the shadows of nearby doorways, their wands already raised and glowing with a faint blue light. The air filled instantly with the familiar, high-pitched hum and the metallic scent of ozone as spells charged.
Newt bolted, darting between pedestrians and an early-morning newspaper stand. Jacob, despite his bulk, kept pace surprisingly well, fueled by sheer, wide-eyed terror.
"She's fast, Sam! What do we do?" Newt shouted over his shoulder, his British voice thin with panic.
Sam's survival instinct was already calculating the optimal path of disruption.
[ SYSTEM: Conflict Resolution Initiated: High-Threat Magical Pursuit. Target: MACUSA Aurors. System Recommends: Maximize Terrain Interference. ]
They tore around a corner, rushing headlong into a crowded street filled with delivery carts and morning commuters. Tina and two Aurors were closing the gap, their boots clattering relentlessly on the pavement.
Sam's luck flared, a non-verbal command to the universe. A heavily laden delivery cart, piled high with fresh apples, suddenly hit a loose, unseen brick. The cart seemed to lurch with malicious, improbable physics.
It spilled its entire contents.
Hundreds of crisp, red apples exploded across the slick cobblestones. The immediate crisp scent of the fruit, sharp and clean, momentarily masked the ozone of the spells. The Aurors, running full tilt, found themselves navigating a minefield of rolling, hard fruit.
One of the pursuers slipped dramatically, his wand skittering across the pavement. Tina, principled and focused, managed to hurdle the bulk of the fruit, but the half-second delay was all they needed.
[ SYSTEM: Luck Ripple Activated: Major Obstacle Creation. +1 Agility. Debuff: Heart-Pounding Stress. ]
Sam's heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, painful sound. The sheer stress of constantly forcing the universe to comply with his needs was almost crippling.
"I am going to survive this by the sheer, calculated pragmatism of being too lazy to put in real effort. If I can make the street fight for me, why should I fight?"
"The apples! It's brilliant, Sam! Absolutely brilliant!" Newt yelled, his voice laced with manic relief, strengthening the bond forged in shared chaos.
"It's physics, Newt! Now run!" Sam corrected, his utilitarian worldview unwavering.
The Aurors quickly recovered, splitting up to flank them. A lone, more aggressive Auror—a tall, severe-looking man—rounded the corner of a brownstone and immediately sighted Sam.
He snapped his wand forward with a violent thrust. "Stupefy!"
The red bolt of stunning light whistled through the air, a bright, sickly-crimson color. Sam felt a sharp, tingling sensation on his skin as the heat of the spell passed close.
His luck intervened, a hair's breadth from a disastrous hit. A freak gust of whistling air suddenly tore down the narrow gap between the buildings, hitting the spell's trajectory just enough.
The hex missed Sam by an inch, deflected harmlessly off a cast-iron rain gutter.
Sam, however, was already in motion. Driven by the urgent need to contribute, he raised his hand, channeling the same energy he'd used in the bakery.
"Right, a stunning spell. Stupefy. I know the word. I know the threat. Let's see what the system can produce when I'm actually aiming at something."
He twisted, aiming his finger at the pursuing Auror, and snapped out the incantation with practiced confidence. "Stupefy!"
The surge hit a lamppost forty feet down the street. The bulb exploded with a crack, showering sparks, and the metal post began to smoke, humming loudly with the residual energy.
The Auror merely sidestepped the bizarre electrical disturbance and stared at Sam, momentarily stunned by the sheer ineptitude of the magic.
Newt, panting heavily, stumbled to a halt beside Sam. A sharp chuckle escaped him, quickly stifled by a nervous gulp.
"Well," Newt gasped, adjusting his coat. "It certainly wasn't the... target you were aiming for, but it was certainly... distracting."
"I'm building a lamppost collection," Sam said, throwing his hands up in a gesture of frustrated resignation. "I'm going to need to practice. That's a huge liability right there."
The comedic miss, highlighting Sam's inexperience, deepened their trust. Newt's quiet relief proved he wasn't judging Sam for his lack of skill, only admiring his impossible string of lucky misses.
The distraction of the sparking lamppost bought them a few precious seconds, enough to plunge them into another, even darker alleyway, which led to a quiet, forgotten corner of a shipyard district.
The air here smelled of salt, brine, and old, musky wood. The light was fading, turning the sky a heavy, oppressive gray.
Newt pointed up, his face grim.
"The Swooping Evil. There it is."
Hanging high in the shadow of a decaying warehouse beam was the creature. It resembled a large, brightly colored bat, its wings currently folded, its body humming with a low, almost subsonic sound—like a caged storm.
"It must be terrified," Newt whispered, his voice instantly shifting from frantic chase to earnest compassion. "They dislike loud noises and confined spaces. We have to secure it, Sam, before MACUSA does."
Sam stepped forward, raising his hands slowly, projecting only a sense of calm and inevitability. Securing the creature was a pragmatic step toward minimizing their problems.
His luck activated, shifting the ambient energies of the space. The distant, jarring sound of a ship's horn that had been irritating the creature suddenly faded, muffled by an unexpected shift in the wind direction. The creature, finding a sudden, unnatural pocket of quiet, paused its nervous humming.
[ SYSTEM: Achievement: Beast Whisperer. Luck-Aided Pacification. +100 Mana. ]
The Swooping Evil's wings, which had been tensed for flight, relaxed slightly. The feathers, incredibly soft and vibrant, seemed to catch the dying light, and the musky scent of its feathers hung in the air.
Newt saw his opening. He stepped forward, his expression purely focused, and with a swift, practiced motion, cast a gentle, non-verbal spell. The creature settled into the soft, comforting fabric of Newt's containment glove.
"There you are, my lovely," Newt murmured, stroking the creature's smooth head before quickly placing the glove inside the now-silent case.
"Teamwork," Sam said, pushing a breath out. It felt like a small, triumphant victory, cemented by the silent, immediate shift in the power dynamic between the two of them.
The silence that followed was profound, broken only by the distant, desperate cry of a Newsboy shouting headlines.
Newt leaned against the rough, salt-laced wood of a pier support, his eyes fixed on Sam.
"That thing with the Swooping Evil… it was like it knew you weren't a threat," Newt observed quietly, tucking the case securely under his arm. "I've never seen that before. Not even with the Bowtruckle."
Sam stared at the dark, oily water of the shipping channel. The stress had finally caught up. His muscles felt like lead, the fatigue debuff manifesting as a leaden, aching weariness deep in his bones.
"The System is real. The magic is real. I can't use it, but I can cheat with my luck. I have no memories, no past, just a dry wit and a cosmic insurance policy. And I just spent thirty minutes running around with a guy who collects monsters. I need information, and Newt has it."
He finally spoke, his voice flat with exhaustion.
"Look, Newt. I don't know who I am, where I came from, or why those light-up runes keep appearing in my eyes. But I know two things: I don't like being chased, and I absolutely hate not knowing the rules." He pushed himself away from the wall, forcing forward motion. "You know the rules of this world. You know the creatures. I know how to not get killed. That's a good trade."
"You're safer with me, Sam," Newt replied, his voice earnest. "The beasts, MACUSA... they'll keep coming."
Newt hesitated, then gestured with his chin toward a set of steps leading down to the docks .
"I know a place. A safehouse. It's… well, it's not exactly a flat, but it's hidden. And they won't be looking for us there."
The constant, unsettling heartbeat feeling—the pulse of the chaotic city—seemed to calm slightly, replaced by a sense of quiet necessity.
"Lead the way, Scamander," Sam said, his voice dry. "But if there's another sticky-fingered mammal in that suitcase, I'm finding a hotel."
He chose to follow, driven by the unresolved question of what sanctuary a man with a suitcase full of beasts could possibly offer, and the quiet, nagging worry that the biggest threat wasn't the Aurors, but the magic he couldn't control.
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