It was distant, but he could still hear it.
Faint sounds of shouts.
Bast laid low across the stone floor of the balcony -- still there minutes after a memory was stolen from him.
"Wher--"
"Find---"
He didn't know how far he'd ran. How much time he would have before searches ran close... but he laid still at the moment -- the weight of the day still heavy.
It was dark out.
Late.
And yet those guards still rummaged through streets causing a slight ruckus. Theft was a crime for sure... but was it necessary?
How important was this relic?
Or was it just the fact it was a relic in general?
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Rain dripped from the crooked balcony roof in slow, uneven beats.
Each drop hit near Bast's shoulder, resounding through his ears like a drum.
He lay there on his back, chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths, the cold seeping through his coat.
The aftershock of the Coin's power pulsed through him like blood -- constant, flowing. 'What am I gonna do?' he thought.
It was a good question. What could he do?
The 'home', he had in the Warrens, was pretty much flooded with guards, and its residents were marched out.
Would that be for a long time?
Who knows, but still... it wasn't safe to go back anytime soon.
Aside from distant sounds: the cranking of metal, the dripping of rain, the rummaging of alley-cats below... the inside silence was loud.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The Coin laid in his pocket, its touch a faint warmth. There was no text at the moment--it's functionality seemingly linked to Bast's will calling for it, as he seemed to dispel its musings as he laid.
"Hhff--" a sound rummaged out of his mouth.
A scoff.
Something he seemed to have done a lot today.
He shut his eyes for a moment--a darkness gracing his way.
"...I'm still here," he voiced. "Somehow."
His hands flexed open, as he stared at a few scratches and cuts.
'Yesterday was way better than this,' he thought -- the musing of simple day to day duties contrasting sharply from today's events.
"Should've just stayed in bed."
Drip. Drip. Drip.
A draft slithered across, cold enough to pull him back to the present.
He opened his eyes.
"I can't stay here forever..."
Reality pressed in slow, like an unoiled watch. He was alone, with a whole force looking for him, sitting in a balcony cove.
Below, Greyfair breathed.
Voices.
Boots splashing through puddles.
Animals running around wild.
They were all searching. Everything was. Everything was searching for something.
So was he.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He shifted closer to the edge. His head peaked over the railing, the crooked edge smelling of rusted metal.
It was quiet... but at the same time it wasn't.
Bast swallowed, throat dry. "Great," he whispered, pushing himself upright with a straightened hand. His legs felt like stone after settling so long -- heavy, unfamiliar.
'I have to move...' he thought.
His hand digged into the side pocket of his patched coat; his arms still covered in worn wrappings.
He touched the Relic's surface.
Why did he do so?
A reminder this was all real.
"No more flipping," he muttered quickly, almost a reassurance. "Not today."
He still hadn't known what he missed.
His fingers reached out to tighten the balcony rail.
Narrow alleys.
Deep shadows.
Darkened gutters protruding with foul stench.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
If he stuck to side streets and dark corners, he might slip out before dawn.
If he hesitated, he'd be boxed in.
"Haa...." he exhaled once.
"...Alright."
He pulled his hood up, covering his head.
"Time to move."
He swung a leg over the railing.
Splash!
The alley accepted him with a wet slap at his feet.
The familiar smell of rotting scraps hit him instantly.
No time to worry about that.
He kept low, coat drawn tight. His fingers brushed the Coin in his pocket.
Still warm.
Still there.
He moved.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Between houses.
Under leaning metal walkways.
Through streets carved by decades of poverty.
He stuck with paths no one sane would venture toward in the dark hours of night. Every shadow he slipped through swallowed him, before spitting him out to the next.
Voices echoed distantly--guards calling search patterns to his right.
"Unit Seven, sweep the East tunnels!"
"Suspect: male, late teens, dark hair, amber eyes--height five-seven!"
Bast froze, before quickly hiding against a building for cover.
Two guards cut across the junction ahead. The road was desolate, so they stood out immediately. Their flashlights carved shaky white arcs through the rain. Their boots sloshing through puddles as they scanned walkways.
"...Eyes up. He must be close."
A beam crawled close to the wall Bast had hugged, stopping just inches from Bast's shoes.
He pressed himself flatter against the soaked brick. 'Shit...' he thought. This wasn't good. There was bound to be more. A lot more.
When their lights swung away, he slipped deeper into a side path--shoulder brushing rusted pipes. Every step loud in his mind, even if it wasn't.
He kept low; every little sound keeping him on high alert.
All his movements pointed further down Greyfair. Further down its impoverished sectors, slipping further away from the clutches of custody.
'I'm close,' he almost whispered, as he crouched past a pile of bins.
He was heading for the Tunnels.
It wasn't safe...
But it was better than the Cage.