Someone shouts, “Holy shit, what is that thing?”
Someone else screams, “He’s got a body!”
I don’t look at any of them.
I keep my eyes on the narrow service corridor between two closed storefronts across the street.
My exit vector.
I sprint.
A police skimmer drops lower, its spotlight slashing across my path and pinning me in blinding white light.
“Stop! Put the civilian down and remain where you are!”
Kimberly’s head bumps against my chest as I pivot hard and dive through the service corridor instead.
“Fuck your spotlight,” I rasp.
A stun round cracks past my shoulder and explodes against the wall in a burst of blue electricity.
I feel it arc across my back, lighting up my nervous system like someone just plugged me into a generator.
My muscles seize.
For half a second, I almost drop her.
Almost.
The jalshagar surges like a living thing trying to tear its way out of my rib cage.
Mine.
Protect.
Kill.
I ride the surge instead of fighting it this time, using the feral energy to force my legs to keep moving even as my nerves scream in protest.
I stagger.
Recover.
Keep running.
I hit the end of the corridor and launch myself over a collapsed chain-link fence into a drainage culvert choked withtrash and ankle-deep water that splashes up over my boots and soaks my pants.
The drones overshoot my position by a few meters.
I vanish under a rusted maintenance overhang and bolt into the maze of lower-district alleys that don’t exist on any public map.
The smell changes immediately.
Less fire.
More sewage.
Ozone.
