"It'll be fine—advisor or not, moving again won't hurt you."
Camera.
A shaking screen.
Step-step-step—!
Two sets of footsteps overlapping. A dim, narrow hallway choked with debris. The air growing warmer with every meter.
Flickering lights slice across your features like passing windows. The hum of fans droning out your thoughts.
A running man glanced back at you, his gaze full perseverance.
With a bang, he shoved the door open, then hurriedly pulled it shut behind him, a click followed when he disappeared from behind it.
Your fingers twitch as something kneaded against your head. The door groaned and buckled, its strike engaging and disengaging.
THMP—!
Again.
The door gaining dents for every attempt.
And again.
You step closer, almost on top of the door now. Your tighten a hand, clenching one hard enough to hurt.
THUD...SNAP!
The latch gave way and the latch bolt flew loose, the door bottoming out against the wall.
Blinding white light floods over your vision.
Heat followed right after, rolling over you in a wave that forces you to slow, your eyes narrowing to slits.
You raise an arm and push through the light, through the doorframe.
immediately, the scenery shifts. The walls widened into an expanse of elevated catwalks stretching toward the horizon, filled with the muttering of the city above and the machinery below. You pick up the pace, each step ringing against the grated walkway.
In between it all, an exhausting smell pulled at your attention while sweat slipped down from your face.
Bam!
Through another door, it extended into a long stretch. The walls funneling your vision into the man silhouette farther ahead.
You barely catch the knocked-down shelf in time, stumbling over it and almost eating debris.
He kept running, shoving down whatever he can reach. The floor clustering with broken pieces and scrap. Yet for every step you take, the clutter shoved itself aside, clearing into a straight path to him that hugged the walls. Faster, faster, and faster until there's nothing left to shove aside.
That same kneading feeling returned.
Frustration, it nudged into your conscience.
You flick your wrist and three distortions surged forward—a tintinnabulate, a sound like metal vibrating, wind snapping your hair across your face. They miss by inches, scorching the wall in streaks of red right when he took a sharp right.
The hallway twists into a maze of bends and turns, one door splitting into many, slowing you down.
More and more hair strands clung to your cheek, apoplectic poisoning your mind.
Another door, and it becomes the last straw. The man didn't even have time to close it behind him before you willed it—the metal heeding your call instantly. The door pulled off its hinges and slamming forward, propelling him across the ground.
Sending him sprawling across the ground.
You flick a finger and a wight presses against your head. A streak of dull silver flies past you and bashed into back, knocking him down hard inside a small, empty clearing.
"Fuc—!"
He groans, but forcing himself back up anyway.
Step. Step.
You lift a hand and a streak of grey flashes towards you, stopping just out of sight.
Step.
Figures emerge from the distance, both sides closing in around him.
Without waiting, you snap your fingers and another three distortions surge past you, hotter than the last set. Expanding heat licks at your skin, the sweat evaporating in an instant.
FWOOOM—FWOOOM—!
Two miss.
FWOOOM! fssshh…
The last one disperses.
His backpack bounces erratically with every step he took. Willing it, you reach upon it, your eyes locking with it.
Only for it to be ripped from you.
—!
A sting flashes through your mind, stunning you for a moment. The pack jerks back toward the group, the man's feet skidding across the ground as he's dragged with it.
Glaring light.
An alarm trips in you.
THWIP—!
You pivot all at once, shifting direction just before a dull streak cuts past where you stood. A harsh thud lands somewhere to your side.
Your run slows into sidesteps, moving laterally instead of forward. Your heart pounds through your body. The air cools again against your skin, your nose turning slightly runny.
Complain.
It mixed with your though, dragging part of the stress with it.
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 grip.
A person half obscured by the shadow grabs the bookbag and turned 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's gone.
You step to the side, facing them when the scent of burning chemicals wafted to your nose.
Your eyes dance down to your waist and see your own tool smoldering, a line of smoke curling up from it.
When you look back up, the group is 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 merge into a single mass, surrounding you.
"Leave."
You meet them with silence, their feature appearing on the shadow, a litany of races.
Your hand finds the piece at your side, pulling it closer, keeping it tight against 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, propelled, slamming into him and tossing his body straight into the wall.
The second their body crashed into the wall, the mass breaks apart and collapses inward—a Librei, Coelhinho, Perro, and Feline splitting from it.
Coming from all directions'.
You duck under the first swing and drive forward, shoulder-first, knocking both of you onto the ground.
Someone grabs at your collar and their fingers hook onto the fabric, cutting into your skin.
You twist and rake your nails across a face without thinking, they hissed while warmth spread forth from your fingertips.
Wind whistling.
Your hair snaps over your face and find yourself skid across the ground when a hand grasped at your wrist. Twisting your arm painfully, instantaneously, you twist your arm the opposite. Driving a knee to their groin.
They didn't let go as the rest hurriedly closed it and without thinking anymore, you claw at their face. You lunge forward and sink your teeth into their bare neck, jamming a finger into an eye.
They jerked back and let go right when someone clubbed at your back, knocking the air out of you then tossing you onto the ground.
Copper, iron, salt.
It lingers on your lips and tongue.
Your vision flickers.
Something displaces the air and pressure gathers afar. The floor beneath your shoes vibrates for a split second. You roll just in time to see the ground split where you were.
Across the room, the piece trembles where it fell. The tools attached to it rattle, metal ringing against metal.
One of them notices too late.
The piece rips free from the ground and tears through the air, the attached tools clanging violently with every spin. 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, the air knocked from you again.
It dropped onto the ground with a thud and you lift it up, your arm slightly straining.
After a second, it lifts itself off the ground, the kneading pressure returns behind your eyes.
It burns.
Your ribs ache. The piece hovers at your side, trembling with every breath you take.
The depot feels smaller with each second, your eyes flick to the bolted pallet rack lining the wall, stacked with crates.
A pause hangs between all of you, someone checks on the man with the ruined eye, blood slipping through his fingers.
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.
Something whistles.
You will the piece sideways, letting it pull you and the floor where you stood explodes with a violent crack, concrete splitting open like a jaw. Dust blooms upward for spit.
Steel flashes from your flank, a short sword drives towards your ribs. You jerk back, the tip of the short sword kissing the fabric instead.
They stagger, but the Perro is already there at their side.
A knife arcs toward your ribs.
But your piece intercepts it, screeching metal and you let go of it at once.
A hammer of heavy air slams into your side and sends you skidding into wooden crates. They splinter under your weight and break apart, stabbing into your legs.
Your eyes snap upwards to the crate above with coldness in your gaze, a blade drives toward your throat. You tilt your head just enough for it to scrape along your collarbone instead, carving into the wood behind you. You grab their wrist, shove the hand up, then slam your forehead into theirs.
You quickly plant a palm on their chest and will it.
Bam!
They crash into a metal rack. You snap your fingers and the crate above shatters.
Again.
The fragments launch together, peppering the Coelhinho. Pieces jam into their throat, chest, groin.
WHAM!
The small generator inside that crate slams into their chest. Spit and blood spray from their mouth, their eyes losing their light, gradually.
Your foot finds purchase.
Metal screaming.
The rack beneath you breaks like ceramic. A brace drops like a waiting hand, and you catch it, gripping it hard.
The generator falls, the corpse falls over it.
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 dragged along, the fabric obscuring its outline.
Without looking, your fingers dig under the cloth. You find the handle and pull free a long knife—bordering on a short sword.
Its face glows a dull silver under the broken light.
…tchk.
It straightens in your grip before carving through the air, meeting resistance and leaving your grasp. Metal grinded against metal, digging deeper.
You surge toward the remaining two. The metal racks behind you groan, then bend under your will, snapping into jagged lengths that hang like crude daggers.
Your palm drives into their sternum while your hand hooks behind their knee. They stumble.
You don't give them time.
Your other hand slams into their jaw and you will the daggers through.
Crack.
Their head whips sideways. The bent shard from the rack jerks forward and punches through their thigh, pinning them to the concrete and again. And again. They scream an orchestra before their breath folds into a yell, slapping you over.
You turn—but too slow.
The Perro comes in low, her blade flashing. You twist to deflect but the edge bites into your side.
Your pupils dilate, heating coursing through your veins.
Across the aisle, the one wrestling your knife snarls and shoves it aside. The blade spins loose, clattering away.
Then they lunge instead, suddenly right beside you.
Sweat clings to your face.
A sharp shove slams into your shoulder, throwing your balance off.
Their leg hooks behind yours and sweep you over, the floor becoming a ceiling.
Your hand snaps out and wills the piece beside you.
The attacker stumbles, their footing catching over it, and you drag them down with you. Their body crashes over the covered metal, the impact knocking a grunt from both of you.
You roll, tossing them along, the piece rattling under the weight as you fight for leverage on the floor.
...click.
—BANG!
Her eyes widen.
BANG! BANG!
BANG!
Her irises shiver and dance, you slam your hand against the side of her head.
"Gasp!"
Your gaze lifts and the one-eyed man stands a few meters away, staring at his comrade pinned beneath you.
Gasping for air, you rise into a kneel and close her eyes, your pistol still trained on the remaining one.
You mouth something to the one eye feline, his mouth curls into a grin and lifts his chin slightly.
BANG!
Umf…
You lower yourself onto your piece, breathing deep and slouching your shoulders.
Golden silence.
One...two.
The dagger-pinned man's breathing echoes through. Your damp hair sticks in uneven strands along your cheek.
Without looking away for long, you dig beneath the cloth and pull out a couple medical supplies, tossing them toward him.
Then you stand.
You move through them one by one, searching their pockets.
Coins. A folded note. A bag of cookies.
By the time you do turn around and face him, his eyes have already gone dull.
In his pocket, your fingers find something stiffer than paper.
"...Hah..."