The fall of rain tore past his face as he ran.
Boots stomped the ground heavily behind him. Shouts rang loud in the air under the backdrop of constant noise.
WOOOOHHOOOOHHHH!
The siren was a constant reminder, and the flashlights beaming at his back were a sign...
'Fuck!' Bast thought, as his arms flailed in the wind.
He'd always had bad luck.
"Stop!"
"Suspect in sight! Young male!"
They were right behind him... and gaining. Multiple guards dressed in pristine uniforms, radios attached to their chests, and hands full with items powering light. At their waists were weapons -- swords?
WOOOOHHOOOOHHHH!
"Cut him off!"
His lungs burned.
"Haa! Haa! Haa!"
His legs pushed harder and harder as the ground splashed beneath him. The coin dug into his palm, cold yet rusted.
He didn't know where he was going -- just away.
Anywhere but here.
"Haa! Haaa! Haa!"
That narrow alleyway with a side door had shifted into a scene of constant twists and turns.
He darted left, greeting a thin empty road. The lamp-lights at its waists did not help in his escape, as they painted his steps through puddles clear.
"Haa! Haa!"
'There!' a voice spoke from within. As he paced up the desolate road, the guards trailed right behind him -- there was a right turn following the end of a building.
Thuk! Thuk! Thu--
His steps slightly paused as he stumbled into the corner...
That was when his shoulder crashed into a line of trash cans -- their metal clattering like a call to a pack of hounds.
CRASH!! DUP! DUP! DUP!
"Fuck!" he whistled through his teeth.
"Hey! Stop running!" voices called from behind. They'd followed him past -- their boots marching over the clattered cans.
He stumbled, half-falling, half-running, before he burst out of the alley like a cornered animal.
The street had yawned open, broader than the last.
This one was too drowned in mist and rain-light. Its lamp lights burned along the sides, their glow illuminating sheets of drizzle falling. A few tracks split the path ahead, their indicators flickering red, sending a faint glow through with the surrounding lamp lights -- they were tram lines.
The air felt sharp, alive.
"Haaa! Haaa!"
"Hey!"
A few civilians turned at the sounds, their faces half-hidden under umbrellas and coats. Some exclaimed. Some stepped back.
Bast didn't wait to see their reactions.
"Come on...." he muttered, before he pushed off the slick ground. His lungs clawed for air as a wet sensation filled his hole-ridden socks.
"Suspect in sight, approaching Nightlets Avenue!"
His heart pounded louder than any sound -- louder than the boots approaching, louder than the distancing siren, and even louder than the faint pulse in his hand. "Stop!" a voice barked again.
He didn't. Couldn't. His legs moved on their own, guided by panic and something sharper -- instinct.
A couple was strolling before they were crashed into by Bast -- his shoulder barrelling into their chests. The man cursed, stumbling back, while the woman's umbrella flew from her hands, spinning into the rain.
"Watch it!" the man yelled, as the woman exclaimed.
"Shit-- sorry!" Bast hissed, barely catching his balance. The word came out with a half-laugh, breathless, wild.
He pushed past right as the words left, shoes slapping the slick stone. Behind him, the guards yelled on their radios -- their comms crackling loud in the frantic chase.
His feet vaulted over the raised pavement, crashing into sleet and slight traction.
"Haa! Haaa!"
His breath came ragged as he ran. He was cutting across the tram lines. The sharp clang of his soles echoed in the rain.
"Suspect has veered onto the Avenue tracks!"
Somewhere the sound of a train rang loud... Bast couldn't hear it though.
His hand outstretched as he had finally crossed the tracks -- fingers clutched the raised edge of the pavement. With a strained grunt, he hauled himself up.
"Haaa! Haaa!"
They were right behind him, painting his back with rays of white. His foot hit the raised ledge as his breath expunged into the air -- the slick stone almost slipping him back down. The surrounding civilians had cleared out, stepping and viewing the ordeal from afar -- it was just another day in Greyfair.
As he straightened himself, his eyes flicked around -- narrow alleys, distant broken fences, a maze of wet roofs postured right above him. He looked frantic as his head whipped...
'Think Bast!'
THUK! THUK! THUK!
His pursuers had stomped loudly over the tracks' metal -- a few metres separating their distance.
The static came next.
"Unit Two -- visual on the suspect?"
"Negative! He's cutting through the north row!"
"Seal the east exit. Do not let him reach the Warrens."
The words bounced off cracked walls as Bast stood unsteady. His pulse kicked with each sound filling the air.
'You gotta be kidding me....' Bast thought, before he kicked into a sprint. Forward he ran, into another alleyway -- the smell of decay hitting his senses instantly.
Another burst of noise crackled not far:
"Command says it's a Code Black object! Authorisation to engage!"
He didn't know what that meant, but the way his stomach churned.... it didn't seem good.
"Haaa..."
"Haaa!"
His lungs burned. His nose throbbed. A flash of numb hit his feet as his socks tore open inside his shoe some more.
It was cold.
He darted through that alleyway like a robber; careless, loud, frantic... but the faint urge to chuckle stayed ever present. The thin roads ahead bent inward like ribs -- shadowed, crooked, breathing rust.
It was another world connected to a "higher" one.
Greyfair's forgotten heart.
The place he'd first paced through -- those looks still fresh in his mind from earlier in the day.
The Warrens.