Mr. Man drifted to a stop before them, his gaze slicing through the smoke from his hot tires.
He glanced at Rainer as if beholding a ghost, then his eyes shifted to the unconscious woman in his arms, a faint frown creasing his brow.
Man didn't comment on it, but looked away instead. It was apparent that something else bothered him.
"We need to go! Get on!" He ordered, his eyes darting toward the deep shadows between the distant cargo containers.
Rommel didn't need to be told twice, he promptly swung onto the bike behind Man and looked back.
"Rainer! Come on!"
Rainer looked at the motorcycle. It was built for two, maybe three in a desperate squeeze.
His gaze drifted down to Aqua's limp form.
Rommel's face hardened. "Leave her behind! The cops will take care of her! We can't be here when they arrive!"
The furrow on Man's brow deepened.
"Cops are the least of our concerns right now." His assessing eyes locked onto Rainer. "You've got three seconds! You, or her? Decide!"
Rainer sighed, and stepped forward, carefully placing Aqua into Rommel's reluctant grasp.
"Take care of her, okay?"
Rommel was livid, but beneath the anger was a profound confusion. "All this... for a whore?"
Rainer's gaze met his with an amused smile, though his eyes held a serious glint. "It's not about her, Rommel."
He slowly stepped back, eyes earnest.
"I've invested myself in this. Let my victory be complete." He said, then chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll make it up to you later."
Rommel was lost for words. This was one of the only times he'd seen Rainer be so serious, speaking with such determination.
Realizing there was no changing his mind, he resigned himself and reminded.
"Remember you still owe me, Rainer."
Rainer blinked, "Oh, the restaurant? I'd already forgotten about that." He grinned.
"Rainer!"
"Alright, I'll come pay you back! Just get out of here already!" He chuckled, waving him off.
Without waiting for another word, Man gunned the throttle.
The motorcycle roared to life and blazed away into the smoke-choked night, leaving Rainer alone on the shattered dock.
He let out a long sigh, then winced sharply. Looking down at his hand, he saw a jagged shard of glass wedged deep through his leather glove, a souvenir from his crash into the bar's shelves.
Grimacing, he gripped the protruding glass. With a sickening sound of tearing meat and a muffled cry, he pulled it.
He stamped his feet, eyes screwed shut, letting loose a stream of curses in languages dead and forgotten, vocabularies accumulated over lifetimes.
Finally, it was out, and he tossed the blood-slicked shard away and heaved a shuddering breath of relief.
But before his pulse could settle, he felt it—a gaze. Not human. Something raw, primal, and hungry, pinning him from the darkness between two containers. An animal intelligence, feral and cold.
'A wolf?' He wasn't sure, and he had no desire to find out.
At that moment, his eyes dropped to the rifle Rommel had tactfully left behind on the ground. A single magazine was clipped to it.
...
Rainer ran, his soaked coat a heavy, flapping weight as he wove a desperate path through the labyrinth of cargo containers, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the apocalyptic crater.
Far behind, the symphony of sirens swelled—a full-city response. The explosion hadn't just been heard; it had been felt. This was now a major incident.
Just then, he remembered something and cursed aloud. As he ran, he noticed he had been feeling an unusual, cold draft on his head. His hand flew up, and his fears were realized: His hat was gone.
So was his mask. Likely, lost to sea.
Rainer soon pushed the thought aside.
'Better stay focused for now. I'll panic about that later.'
His eyes, sharp and cautious, scanned every shadow, every gap.
His cosmic senses, dulled by exhaustion and pain, stretched out thin, searching for threats. Rainer was still in Beach Boys territory, and the dozen who fled would be armed, angry, and likely nearby.
The last thing he needed was a bullet in the back.
Speaking of backs… the feeling persisted. That primal presence from the clearing...
It was following him. Not attacking. Herding—Teasing. Waiting for his stamina to run out...
It was a familiar, deeply hated sensation—the feeling of being prey.
Rainer skidded to a halt and turned, planting his feet. He'd stopped at a pathway formed by containers in an 'L' shape. Light from a distant lamp streamed across the opening he came through.
He waited, his grip on the rifle turning his knuckles white.
Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. A shadow loomed forth against the ground from the corner. A figure approached. Not with haste, but with a casual, terrifying certainty. Steps assured in its victory.
Rainer's entire body tensed. But as the shadow clarified, his fear evaporated into bewildered relief. The silhouette was unmistakably, curvaceously feminine.
He almost laughed at himself. Overreacting at a woman's approach.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
'A lady, eh? That shadow's looking mighty fine. Maybe I should strike a nice pose. Couldn't hurt to chat... After all, even enemies can become friends, right?'
He leaned against a container, forcing cool nonchalance as his smile grew.
But then the shadow halted, and what happened next was something he would tell his grandkids about—if he ever lived long enough to have any.
Rainer watched, his smirk melting into open-mouthed horror.
The human shadow distorted. Suddenly, swelling, and bulging with impossible muscles and height.
He heard the violent rip of fabric, the sickening snap-crack of bones realigning, and a low, guttural snarl that was utterly inhuman.
A fully formed, monstrous shadow now filled the corridor.
Immediately, terror, pure and icy, shot down his spine.
He stumbled back, turned, and ran for his life.
Teeth gritted, the wind screamed in his ears as he blasted through the dim maze, making frantic, dizzying turns, a desperate attempt to lose the thing behind him.
The sounds that followed were the stuff of nightmares: horrid, rasping growls; the thunderous BANG of a huge body slamming into metal containers; the nerve-shredding SCREEEECH of claws raking down corrugated steel.
He felt it gaining on him. It's hot, panting breaths seemed to lick the back of his neck.
'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuck!!! That's a bloody WEREWOLF!'
He risked a glance back. In the murk, he saw the steam of hot breath and above it, two saffron eyes glowed, burning with predatory intelligence.
The hazy, hulking form was terrifyingly close.
Luckily, adrenaline gave his legs a new burst of speed, yet he wished for wings.
'Witchery?! Werewolves?! How did I not put this together sooner?! What kind of world is this?!'
He thought appalled.
'This is bad! This is a catastrophe! I'm gonna be torn apart!!!'
Ahead, a brighter poolof sodium light beckoned. And he soon burst out of the container maze onto a deserted service road, empty and lined by nothing but chain-link fences.
Skidding to a halt on the gritty asphalt, he spun and raised the rifle, aiming back into the dark maw of the corridor.
Rainer panted, whitened grip trembling from all the adrenaline.
He was done running. His stamina was ash. This was his last stand.
"I... haah... am the Champion!" he riled himself up, voice raw, and eyes wide with exhausted defiance. "...Whatever that means. But—I will not be hounded down by some overgrown pup in a fairy tale!"
He waited, the rifle steady in his shaking hands.
For a moment, only silence answered his declaration.
Then, from the darkness, a massive wolf's head lunged into the light, jaws unhinged like a bear trap lined with daggers, aimed to take his head off.
Rainer pulled the trigger, and the rifle roared, bucking in his hands.
He pulled, and pulled again...
Oh, what good that did him in the end.