"It'll be fine—advisor or not, moving again won't hurt you."
Camera.
A shaking screen.
Step-step-step—!
Two sets of footsteps overlap.
A dim, narrow hallway choked with debris stretches ahead, the air growing hotter with every meter.
Flickering lights slice across your features like passing windows. The hum of fans drones loud enough to drown out your thoughts.
The man running ahead of you glances back, his gaze full of desperate perseverance.
Fear.
Desperation.
Hope.
With a bang, he shoves the door open, hurries through, then pulls it shut behind him. A click follows once he disappears behind it.
Your fingers twitch as something kneads against the inside of your head.
The door groans and buckles.
Its latch engages and disengages over and over.
THMP—!
Again.
A dent caves itself into the metal.
And again.
You step closer until you are almost on top of the door. Your hand tightens, clenching hard enough to hurt.
THUD...SNAP!
The latch gives way.
The bolt flies loose.
The door slams goes flying right for the wall.
Blinding white light floods your vision.
at follows right after, rolling over you in a wave thick enough to slow your steps.
Your eyes narrow to slits.
You raise an arm and push through the glare, through the passage, through the while of the heat.
Then the scenery changes.
The walls fall back into an expanse of elevated catwalks stretching toward the horizon, machinery and noise fill the expanse.
You pick up the pace, each step ringing against the grated walkway.
Through it all, an exhausting smell pulls at your attention while sweat runs down your face.
Bam!
Through another door, the space narrows again, the walls extend into a long stretch that funnels your vision toward the man farther ahead.
You barely catch the knocked-down shelf in time, stumbling over it before your body can eat the debris.
He keeps running, shoving down whatever he can reach.
The floor clutters with broken pieces and scrap, but for every step you take, the clutter drags itself aside, clearing into a straight path toward him.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Until there is nothing left for him to knock down.
That same kneading feeling returns.
Frustration presses into your conscience.
You flick your wrist and three distortions surge forward—a tintinnabulate sound like vibrating metal, a gust of wind snaps your hair across your face.
They miss by inches, scorching the wall in red streaks just as he takes a sharp turn.
The hallway twists into a maze of bends and curves, one door splitting into many, slowing you down.
More and more strands of hair cling to your cheek, apoplectic heat poisoning your mind.
Another door, and it becomes the last straw.
The man does not even have time to close it behind him before you will it.
The metal heeds your call instantly.
The door tears from its hinges and slams forward, taking him with it.
THUD! whff—
He hits the ground hard and skids into a small, empty clearing.
You flick a finger and a weight presses against your head. Somewhere out of sight, grey flashes toward you and stops just beyond your shoulder.
"Fuc—!"
He groans, but forces himself back up.
Step. Step.
Step.
Figures emerge from the distance.
Another three distortions surge past you, hotter than the last set. Heat blooms outward, licking across your skin, evaporating sweat before it can finish sliding down your face.
FWOOOM—FWOOOM—!
Two miss.
FWOOOM! fssshh…
The last one disperses.
His backpack bounces erratically with every step. You reach toward it, your eyes locking onto the bag.
Only for it to be ripped from your hold.
—!
A sting flashes through your mind, sharp enough to stun you for a breath.
The pack jerks backward toward the group and the man's feet skid across the ground as he is dragged with it.
Glaring light.
An alarm trips somewhere inside you.
THWIP—!
You pivot all at once, shifting direction just before a dull streak cuts through the space where you stood. A harsh thud lands somewhere at your side.
Your run slows into sidesteps, moving laterally instead of forward.
Your heart pounds through your chest. The air cools the sweat on your skin and your nose starts to run slightly.
The man shrugs off his backpack and throws it behind him. The bag skids across the floor and vanishes from view while four people step into place around him, their gazes fixed on you, their tools hanging loose in their grips.
Someone half-obscured by shadow grabs the bookbag and turns to run.
Before fully turning away, he flicks a finger toward you. The bracelet at his wrist catches the light, blinking once.
A pulse ripples outward from it.
The hairs on your body stand up.
Then it is gone.
You step to the side, keeping the group in front of you, when the scent of burning chemicals wafts into your nose.
Your eyes dart down to your waist. Only to find your own tool smoldering, a thin line of smoke curling up from it.
When you looked back up, the group was slowly closing in.
Sweat pools along your cheek and slides down to your chin. Drip by drip, it soaks into your clothes while you make distance.
They step closer.
Their silhouettes begin to merge into a single mass, spreading around you.
You meet them with silence, their features appearing in the shadow, a litany of races.
Your reach out and finds the piece at your side, pulling it closer, keeping it in front your body.
shff…
A lurch.
You move right in one sharp motion and launch it at the rightmost figure. The object tears sideways through the air, pulled by your will, and slams into him hard enough to throw his body straight into the wall.
DUMPH!
Before he can fall, your hand stretches outward.
His hands fly to the metal pressed against his chest, his fingers scraping uselessly over its surface. His feet kick once against the floor, then again.
Grrrk…
His tool slips from his grip and clatters against the ground, forsaken.
KRK—kghh!
His chest caves around the piece, for a second, there is only the sound of metal and bone giving way.
His eyes blow wide while they lock with yours.
Your hand tightens.
CRUNCH.
His body folds over the piece before sliding down the wall with it, leaving a dark smear behind him.
The first swing comes in low and fast.
You duck beneath it and drive forward shoulder-first, crashing into the one in front of you. Both of you hit the ground hard, limbs tangling, your breath leaving in rough bursts.
Someone grabs your collar from the side. Their fingers hook into the fabric and drag across your skin.
You twist and rake your nails across a face without thinking.
They hiss and warmth spreads across your fingertips.
Wind whistles.
Your hair snaps over your face, and the ground suddenly scrapes under your back as something drags you sideways.
A hand clamps around your wrist.
They twist your arm until pain shoots up into your shoulder, forcing a hiss from your mouth.
Instantaneously, you twist with it instead of against it, folding your body in close before driving your knee into their groin.
They do not let go.
Without thinking anymore, you claw at their face. Your fingers catch skin, then something softer. You lunge forward and sink your teeth into their bare neck, jamming a finger into one eye at the same time.
They jerk back with a strangled sound.
Their hand finally releases you.
Right when someone clubs your back.
The blow knocks the air out of you and folds your body forward before another impact sends you sprawling onto the ground.
Copper, iron, salt.
It lingers on your lips and tongue.
Your vision flickers.
Something displaces the air.
Pressure gathers from afar.
The floor beneath your shoes vibrates for a split second.
You move just in time to see the ground split where you had been.
Across the room, your piece trembles where it has fallen. The tools caught against it rattle violently, metal ringing against metal in a frantic, uneven rhythm.
One of them notices too late.
The piece rips free from the ground and tears through the air, clanging with every rotation. It smashes into someone's jaw with a crack and keeps going, dragging him off his feet before ricocheting back toward you.
You manage to catch it.
The momentum hauls you upright, only for your back to slam into the wall hard enough to knock the air from you again before it drops with a thump.
You lift your arm through the thumping pain.
The kneading pressure returns behind your eyes.
Your ribs ache.
The depot feels smaller with each passing second. Your eyes flick to the bolted pallet rack lining the wall, stacked with crates.
A pause hangs between all of you.
The man with the ruined eye staggers back into someone's arm, both hands clamped over his face. He tries to breathe through it, but every breath came out sharp and panicked, while the one beside him dragged his shoulder into a patch darkness.
Then it snaps like glass under pressure.
The lights above stutter.
Half of them cut out at once, plunging the room into uneven bands of shadow. The remaining bulbs buzz, casting broken patches of light.
You will the piece sideways and let it drag you away.
The floor where you stood explodes with a violent crack, concrete splitting open like a jaw. Dust blooms upward for a split second.
Steel flashes from your flank.
A short sword drives toward your ribs.
You jerk back, and the tip kisses fabric instead of your flesh.
A hammer of heavy air slams into your side and sends you flying into wooden crates. They splinter
A hammer of heavy air slams into your side and sends you flying into the wooden crates. They splinter under your weight, breaking apart around you while jagged pieces bite into your legs.
Your eyes snap upward to the crate above you.
For one breath, everything narrows.
The edges of your vision collapse inward, frayed and unfinished like a badly drawn picture, but the center sharpens into painful clarity.
Just like the blade driving toward your throat.
The silver steel.
The angle.
The wrist behind it.
The eyes of the one holding it.
Their intent.
Their exhaustion.
Their hesitation.
Everything coalesces at once.
You tilt your head just enough for the blade to scrape along your collarbone instead of opening your throat. The steel bites shallow and buries itself into the wood behind you.
Before they can pull it free, your hand clamps around their wrist.
You pull their arm forward, pinning the sword in place, then slam your forehead into theirs before they can shift their weight back.
"Gah!"
For a second, you feel you could understand them.
You plant your other palm against their chest and will it.
Bam!
They are ripped off their feet and thrown into the metal rack. The whole structure shudders under the impact, crates jumping in place while bolts shriek against the floor. Before they can recover, your fingers clench into a fist.
The crate above them shatters.
Fragments launch downward all at once, peppering their body before they can raise an arm. Splinters and broken pieces bury into their face, throat, and chest, forcing their head back.
WHAM!
A small generator follows and slams into their chest.
Spit and blood burst from their mouth. Their body jerks once against the metal, then sags, their eyes gradually losing their light.
Your foot finds purchase.
Metal screams beneath you.
The rack gives way like ceramic under too much pressure. A brace drops from above like a waiting hand, and you catch, gripping it hard like one would a cane.
Your breathing slows down, you catch the remaining three already surrounding you.
You flick your fingers.
The piece tears free from where it wedged itself and whips back to your side. The cloth snagged over it drags along the floor, twisting around its shape and obscuring its outline beneath the broken light.
Without looking away from them, your fingers dig beneath the cloth.
You find a handle.
Then you pull free a long knife bordering on a short sword.
Its face glows dull silver under the broken light.
…tchk.
It whips in your grip before carving through the air.
The first clash nearly tears it from your hand.
Metal grinds against metal, sparks spitting between you and the attacker while the blades shiver under the broken light.
Your eyes finally adjust to the dim.
They press in.
The edge slides down your blade with a scream. Your wrist buckles, and pain climbs through your shoulder while you fight to keep the weapon between you and them.
The attacker slips their blade away before snapping it back toward you.
Clank!
The top of your blade catches theirs.
They press forward.
Heat bursts across your cheek before you even feel the cut.
Their weight bears down through the crossed steel, forcing your arm lower inch by inch. Your feet drag against the floor, searching for purchase, but there is only dust, splinters, and blood-slick grit beneath you.
Another shadow moves, your eye twitches toward the left.
Thwip—!
You twist your neck aside and something bolts past close enough to drag a line of wind across your face.
The second shot follows immediately, lower this time, aimed for your side. You let yourself fall back before it reaches you, dragging the attacker down with your combined weight instead of trying to force them off.
It hits them instead.
The shot punches into their ribs and juts out the other side.
Their face flushes red.
For half a second, their breath disappears completely. Then they snarl through their teeth, spit flying from their lips while they refuse to stop.
They wrench their sword away, stagger back one step and rip a hatchet free from their back with another hand.
Clank!
The impact jars through your elbow.
They hook the hatchet over your blade and yank hard. Your grip tears loose before you can recover, and the long knife rips from your hand, clattering across the concrete.
Behind them, the last one moves their hand through a sequence.
The air around their fingers turns like heated glass. Lines shimmer between each movement, bending the dim light until the room warps around their hand.
Then they close it.
The remaining lights flare brighter than ever.
Static needles across your skin.
Your pupils turn into needles.
Your heart beats like heavy drums.
Fight.
Something inside you stutters.
Fight.
Fight.
Fight.
The racks behind you answer first.
A low metallic groan crawls through the depot, slow and strained.
KRRRNNNCH-SHRAAAK—THUNK!
Bolts scream. Shelves cave inward.
Crates shudder and slide off while long beams of corroded metal peel away from the walls, tearing free in jagged skewers.
KRRRNNNCH-SHRAAAK—!
The mass lashes down like a pythin.
THUNK!
It spears into the concrete beside you, splitting the floor in a jagged ring. The static crawling across your skin snaps toward it all at once.
Crack.
For an instant, the entire depot turns white.
The metal pythin drives the strike whole, its jagged length flashes bright enough to burn its shape into your irises. The concrete around it turns red, heat spiderwebbing before the floor begins to hiss.
BANG!
The sound punches a hole through the haze of your mind.
White.
Your senses come back one by one.
It smears your memories.
The depot stretches sideways, shelves and bodies drag across your vision like someone dragged a wet hand through paint. The lights overhead hummed, both too loud and too close, too far away and too quiet.
Your raise an arm up to your face.
The smell of chemicals and blood linger in the ruined room, your thoughts weigh like heavy stew.
You lower yourself onto your piece, breathing deep and slouching your shoulders.
Golden silence.
"...Hah..."