Foreigner watched Foxtail sprint towards the flaming warehouse, gouts of fire erupting from its window like streams of dragon’s breath. He watched in disillusionment as she desperately swung the front door open, a gust of flames coming at her all at once, the orange tendrils licking her skin viciously. He looked behind him and around him, the chittering and clattering of steel on concrete approach from all sides, the faint glow of deep crimson hidden beneath the growing darkness. With a heavy sigh, he ran past the tree and towards the warehouse.

“Peepers! Where are you!” Foxtail cried out from within the building. Underneath the crackling of embers, he could hear the foundation groan and ache in pain. With a shoulder check through the doorway, he was caught in the inferno, his eyes narrow and irritated by the grayish-black smoke in the area. Foxtail was on the second floor, panicked, desperately searching for the small boy. “Peepers! Please, Peepers!” She overturned burning pieces of furniture with adrenaline fueled strength, finding no sight of the boy on the upper floor. Foreigner searched with his head held low to the ground, first in the makeshift living room in which he was greeted and then to the stockpile of heavy equipment in crates held to the back of the building. There was no sign of the child. There was no sign of a confrontation either. Accidental fire then?

“Foxtail,” Foreigner yelled, running through the walls of fire that were starting to separate from the walls moving towards the center, “Peepers isn’t here!” No response. “Hey! Are you okay up there?” He waited as best he could for a response before the heat around him forced his hand. Climbing up the stairs, his teeth clench as each hand upward meant the palms underneath being burned by the heated metal. On the second floor Foreigner found Foxtails’ crumbled body on the ground, her hands desperately clinging to a number of objects. A doll, a children’s hand sized telescope, and bag filled with miscellaneous items. He reached for the objects and secured them in his pockets, nicking himself with the large shard of glass held in one of them, and lifted Foxtail onto his shoulder. His vision was getting dizzy now, breathing becoming difficult and uneven. Carefully, he made his way down the ladder and barrelled through the entrance way. Fresh air felt delicious as he took a heavy breath on the outside. He placed Foxtail on the dead grass and allowed himself a moment of rest, the fatigue in his body starting to make his muscles quake in pain as if ready to give out.

“Chchch. Krrrrr. Chchch.” Rubbing into his eyes, Foreigner saw a gaggle of Sweepers walking towards the burning building. They approached with curiosity yet patiently, observing Foreigner and his next action. And what action was he going to take, he wondered. He knelt down and placed his finger under Foxtail’s nose. Faint, but still breathing. Looking up, he surveyed his surroundings and counted about 15 Sweepers within the plaza, luminous red eyes glowing far beyond the alleyway and buildings surrounding the warehouse. It was inconceivable for him to fight. There were too many of them and from the way they attacked their victims, probably smart too. Foxtail was out of commission too, meaning he was going to move slower, fight recklessly. Leaving her behind wasn’t an option.

“Brrrrchch. Krrrbr. Chch.” One bulkier looking Sweeper communicated with the rest of his group as they brandished their weapons into a ready position. His attention was broken to the sounds of a coughing fit given by Foxtail, her body curling up into a ball as it shook on the ground. Looking up again, he watched as the Sweepers stood still, a circle formed around the burning building, their bodies swaying idly in trance. And there was his flash of inspiration. Only a few steps beyond the circle, he saw the tree and all of its mangled, flammable glory. Recklessly, he ran with his pick stretched out like a lance. The Sweepers in the immediate area, about three, took notice and shifted themselves in the circle, getting prepared to carve into his flesh. He swept his weapon in a wide arc to give himself distance from their assault, feeling the wind of their hefty weaponry narrowly avoid purchase on his skin. In another motion overhead, he swung his weapon down on a thicker tree branch.

“Crrrrrbrrrrch. Chchch” The three Sweepers reoriented themselves, efficient in their movements like automatons. With a grunt, Foreigner wrapped the unwieldy branch around his arm and held onto his pick with a desperate strength. Once again, he dashed, saving the energy in his arm to swing the pick in a wide arc to give himself the space he needed.

“Ah!” Foreigner yelped as the cold steel bit into his bicep, his muscles screaming out for relief to drop the branch but he did not yield. They chased him for a few steps before falling back in line with the rest of their collective. A stream of warm blood ran down his arm. Dropping his items, he felt the groove of the cut and hoped it was shallow. He couldn’t tell if the lackluster amount of blood was from the cut or the weapon they used but it left him feeling lightheaded either way. He ripped his bloody shirt sleeve and tied the dead branch around his pick. He walked to the building and caught a flame with his weapon, the intensity of the blaze fierce but manageable. With his good arm he hefted Foxtail onto his shoulder and took another deep breath. Carefully, he walked forward with his radiant weapon. The Sweeper crowd took notice and gave him a wide berth. He swung the weapon once for good measure, stings running up the cut and through his body but he did not relent. Some Sweepers took notice, attempting to needle the moving fire but a well timed forward thrust kept those that were curious at bay. More Sweepers ignored him, taking greater interest in the larger fire in the center of the plaza. By the time he had made it to the alleyway proper, he looked back and saw a wave of Sweepers had taken to watching the burning spectacle. The flames were dwindling as was his radius of protection so he dared not waste any time. With the last sparks of his strength, he walked in the darkness, city street lamps his only other source of light, scanning the area for a sign familiar.

He’d lost track of time, body slow to react and haggard from the overexertion. The brilliance surrounding his pick were down to small flames and it was here he had found a reprieve from the fighting and the survival. All he could hear was distant violence and the faint crackling of embers still present on his branch.

With a knock on the door to his salvation, he waited for Jin to open the door, taking a few steps inside of the establishment before letting his body give out.