Inches from his face as his legs split across the ground, Tyson caught the blur of a projectile meant to puncture his skull fly past him.
The instant he sensed the danger, he transformed his stumble into a desperate maneuver, accelerating his fall into a lean. It cost him dearly, his legs twisted into an excruciating sprawl, but survival trumped comfort.
There was no time to reflect. More gunfire was imminent, and the other two assailants had begun unlatching the large cases clutched in their arms.
Tyson flipped upright and broke into a sprint back toward the desticar, moving in erratic patterns, ducking left, swerving right, crouching low, designed to throw off the shooter's aim.
"Tyson, the door!" Yon's voice reached him just as the desticar's side panel hissed open.
Tyson vaulted over the door and collapsed into cover behind it as bullets slammed into the metal.
Siren blaring, the desticar reactivated its hover system and began to accelerate.
Yon lunged from the passenger seat, grabbing Tyson's wrist and bracing the door with his foot. With a strained pull, he yanked Tyson fully into the vehicle.
The car veered hard right, narrowly skimming the bridge's railing to avoid the pile ahead. The screech of friction sang against the metal edge until the path widened again.
Tyson had made it inside just in time, mere seconds later, he might've been shredded on the rails or left behind entirely. Whether the desticar accounted for that before maneuvering remained an open question.
"Tch! Damn those Sky Company cars!" One of the attackers spat as they piled into a separate vehicle, a wheeled, high-powered machine.
Though lacking hover tech, its engine thundered with raw force, allowing it to not only keep pace but even threaten to overtake the desticar.
"Did you see him? That bastard Yon was one of them," the blond man barked as he gripped the wheel.
"Yon?!" the bald man growled in disbelief. "No way. He might've quit, but he hated Veil just as much as we do."
"I don't want to believe it either," the driver responded grimly. "But if he's awakened his authority, then yeah, it all adds up. You know quickly how Eminents change."
The bald man snapped open his case, revealing a hand-held weapon that resembled a cannon. "So what's the plan, then?"
"What else, Victor?" the driver shot back. "He's with Veil now. We will finish him if we have to."
Victor aimed the cannon through the window. "Just don't cry to me if he ends up a smear."
Then, addressing the hooded woman in the back: "Newbie. I know you hate Veil with a passion, but that doesn't mean you get to be so trigger happy. You screw up like that again, you're walking."
Back in the desticar, Tyson spoke between breaths, "Where's it headed?"
"Probably a precinct," Yon answered. "Once the emergency protocol's on, the only thing we can still use is the brakes."
"Veil! Hand over that worshiper, and no one has to get hurt!"
The voice struck them like a battering ram. Out the rear window, they spotted the man aiming a cannon squarely at them.
"You've got three seconds!"
"They're after Clarisse?" Yon said, bewildered.
"More importantly, how'd they know?" Tyson added. "That trap was way too convenient."
"I believe you have more pressing concerns," Clarisse interjected, just before the vehicle lurched from another sudden dodge, this time evading an explosive blast.
"That was a warning shot!" the voice boomed again. "I won't miss the next one!"
"Veil and the rest of the world may have tried to erase worshipers," Clarisse said calmly as they recovered from the jolt, "but we possess something they still desperately need."
Tyson and Yon exchanged glances. "So these guys—"
"They despise Veil," she affirmed. "Many factions in the world do, in fact. That's why the House of the Lord has been targeted repeatedly."
It explained the craters and wreckage that'd seen surrounding the House. But it raised another question, why would Veil tolerate such threats within Simulum?
"They can't afford an open war with Veil," Clarisse continued. "But Veil also benefits from keeping us vulnerable. They'll step back just enough to let us bleed, and swoop in when we're cornered. Making us owe them, though we've never stooped to such a level."
Another blast rocked the desticar, but Clarisse didn't even flinch or waver this time. Instead, she met their eyes.
"You both have a choice. Hand me over, and this ends here. I promise I won't blame you."
They believed her. Somehow, she truly meant it.
"What's your decision?"
The two straightened at once, their determination hardening in their eyes.
"We fight."
"We run."
"..."
""Huh?!""
They gawked at each other, heads colliding as they turned in sync.
"Are you insane?! Why fight them?" Yon snapped.
"And why run?!" Tyson fired back.
"You don't get it. Those attackers? They're anti-authority militants. Every weapon they've got is designed to nullify Eminents like us. If we just reach HQ, we'll be out of their range."
But Tyson wasn't ready to accept that. "So you know who they are?"
"…Of course I do," Yon replied curtly, but gave no further detail.
To Yon, there was no need to pick a risky fight. Escaping was safer, smarter, and far more likely to succeed.
Tyson's brow furrowed. "Then you should also realize the problem with running. Everything that's happened, this setup, the roadblock, them knowing who Clarisse is, it's all too well-timed. What if that would be within their expectations as well?"
Suddenly, a high-pitched whistling grew louder from behind.
Tyson's instincts kicked in. He kicked the door open and thrust his palm into the rushing wind outside.
"Expel!" he shouted.
A blast of reddish-orange flame burst from his hand. It didn't need precision, just timing. The explosive projectile detonated mid-air with a blinding flash and concussive wave that rocked the desticar, slamming the door back into his grip.
The vehicle swerved violently as it fought to regain control.
Tyson steadied himself and looked to Yon. "We can't keep our backs to them. I'm not the one underestimating them,you are."
Yon's breath hitched. He didn't turn around, but he knew what was behind them. He had no desire to face them, neither the attackers, nor his past.
"…I might have a plan," he said at last, voice low.