From intense flames rise the hazy smoke, the steam, and that steam rises in light amounts up in the air, basking in the bright blue sky embellished with vast white clouds soft like cotton which hold innumerable golden pillars, all reflecting the cyan light of the supersun that resides above all by the top of the apparently finite screen shaped as a huge leaf.

Down to the vapor’s source is the mug, carefully molded to resemble a cupcake, the body as a pink wrapper that emits a pink holographic handle, the edge as a white head with an aperture which vents the vapor, which sits on a smooth white surface.

The translucent handle is then suddenly gripped by a hand of fair skin, which carries the mug off the surface. It’s pulled up and gradually back, and the closer it reaches to its destination the more clear a track becomes, appearing to be played from the source of the hand, which has an upbeat instrumental with a rapid, intense pace, and following with the pace is a delicate female voice of northern asian descent.

As the cup is brought to its destination, that being the smooth pink lips of the holder, whose mouth is slightly parted just enough for the mug’s edge to slide through and pour the liquid into the gap, the music playing in the being’s head distinctly resembles that of an idol song and yet oddly carries the unique intensity and speed of a rapidly conveyed rap song, even with heavy emphasis on certain words similarly found in such genre.

A few seconds the mug resides against the lips, angled in such a way that allows smooth pouring into the mouth, but eventually it’s then pulled back off and lowered down to the surface.

Descending once again, the cup passes a large holographic monitor with a pink rounded border, displaying two windows side by side, the one on the right exhibiting a intricate network of shapes connected by arrows like a board of notes linked together. The one on the left displays what appears to be a chat log based on the strings of text encased in bubbles of various colors, some in blue, others in green, purple, and pink to name a few.

Suddenly the entire log is moved up as a new string of text appears at the bottom within a green bubble with a popping animation, which requests: ‘Meeting in a minute in 1043C syk. Deadline is next week so I want to confirm we’re on track. Also I need to know if Kokei is in the office today to know if I should stream our meeting or not.’

The log moves up again to make way for another text albeit inside a purple bubble, which assures: ‘She told me earlier that she’s still out, so we should. I’ll be up there soon, but don’t worry so much, we pretty much have the system finalized...’

Again a new message appears in blue, which pokes: ‘wat deadline?’

Seated on the black chair hovering in front of the white table–that holds a plethora of figurines with unique attire and items held such as a female figure with brown hair and eyes wielding a long orange bo staff which even emits an artificial mist from the top end–, the being with long pink hair glances at the left side of the green while relinquishing grip of the mug to properly read the conversation while also glancing at her blueprint.

She hums quietly to herself precisely to the quick beat of the song playing in her head, working in her white room well lit with the leaf windows that illuminate the bed beside her which has white pillow the length of her height accompanied by various plushies.

With one hand she begins tapping on the edge of the table along with the beat too, engrossed in her music while hard at work.

Through vibrant pink irises the woman glances at the blueprint again, reading it casually to follow along with her work. She bobs her head up and down, but then suddenly to the side to which on the screen a rectangular node appears in the blueprint, which is already linked from another node before then linking back to the full chain, correcting an error she noticed.

On the left window the entire chat log is blurred to bring focus to a crisp icon of what resembles an open doorway which past it is a wide board, meant to represent a meeting room. The icon pulsates every couple seconds. At the same time the music playing in the woman’s head is dampened in substitution for a repetitive upbeat pinging tune, similar to that of a phone ringtone.

Taking notice of the alert, the woman glances to the pulsating icon and nods her head to the side, to which the left side of the screen detaches into its own full display which projects behind the blueprint, and in it then meeting icon begins enlarging as the once empty board icon becomes animated with video footage of a real room with a few people seated at a circular table. The icon grows as if the door is being entered, and once the door vanishes the entire screen suddenly extends from all directions, wrapping around her wholly, allowing the display of the blueprint to remain unaffected but immersing her in the video stream.

With the stream expanded, it becomes clear that it is inside some room with peach walls and soft cyan lighting to mimic the supersun. Against the walls are long windows which provide a view into the larger floor where there appears to be a mob of people addressed semi formally seated in what resembles cubicles albeit for the borders as the entire floor is open.

Inside the room right in the center of the screen is a wide circular white table, and around the table are three women dressed in formal business suits, one of them relatively short at less than five and a half feet with short hair, another with a more mature figure with an elegant wine-dyed hair, and the last standing with long brown hair, who stands on the opposing side of the table in front of a board which projects its own hologram of a complex diagram resembling that of a network topology diagram.

Immediately after the screen wraps around, all three of the women face the worker at home and with cheery expressions exclaim, “Kokei!”

Staring straight ahead while still in the informal cupcake hoodie, her room seemingly transformed into the office space from her perspective due to the virtual reality screen, Kokei smiles brightly and exclaims back, “My girls! How are you all?”

From the screen, the petite woman with short hair playfully nudges, “Would be better if you were here~,” with a slurred ending.

Awkwardly Kokei lowers her head and begins running her hand through her hair, having been immediately bombarded upon opening her door, as a sense of unease looms over her.

With an authoritative tone, the woman with brown hair harshly reprimands, “Casey, come on, you don’t need to start every call with that.”

Next to the instant troublemaker, the woman with wine hair lowers her head and quietly murmurs, “I mean…she is not incorrect, perhaps if she had accompanied us on the camping trip, the food would not have tasted like a rat set on fire and then immediately consumed.”

Simultaneously Casey and Kokei retort, Casey crying: “Ember!” and Kokei shouting, “Wait, camping trip??”

Slapping her forehead, the woman with brown hair is struck by the revelation which she echoes: “We’re not getting any work done today, are we?”

Kokei leans forward in her chair, pursuing insistently, “Wait, you guys went on a camping trip? When?”

Casey leaps into the conversation, first to correct: “First off, my food was not that bad, and you suggested takeout so at least we did something real. Secondly, last weekend.”

“I suggested takeout AFTER we started eating, hollowskull. Also Alina is right, we should start,” reminds Ember callously, her posture elegant, focus professional, yet words devilish.

Recoiling back against her seat and lowering her head again to hide her face, Kokei gently whispers, “That…sounds really fun….”

With an entirely innocent energy, Casey glances at Kokei and mentions, “Well, we tried to call you but you weren’t receiving anything. I mean hey sounds like maybe you were also having fun so don’t worry. Besides, whenever you get back, we can always do something again together! We’re not going anywhere, well, until Alina climbs the ladder enough and is upgraded into another heartless executive manager and lives on the king floor, playing roulette with all of her employees to decide who to lay off each day.”

Flustered with embarrassment but also anger, Alina closes her hand into a fist and holds it towards Casey, scolding as though her coworker were a child, “Hey, you know I’m right here?! You know what, that’s not a bad idea, and maybe for the first one I’ll just ‘happen’ to choose your name!”

As if aimed at by a barrel, Casey cowers with her hands over her face as she retreats, “Wait no no I was joking! Hahah and of course you knew that so you were just joking too, right? Right?”

Before the inferred leader speaks, Ember faces Kokei and inquires calmly, “But we wish to know, when do you plan on returning? For one, it’d help with productivity if we had you around, not that your rates are insufficient but just having you would benefit us all and boost our pace. It’s cumbrous to use these routes of collaboration with you when the rest of us are within a few seconds of a walk from each other nearly the whole workday. We know you managed to offer some note that has sustained your stability here as well as your pay indefinitely, but we’re unsure what ‘indefinitely’ entails for you.”

Having calmed down once the focus of the conversation was moved, Alina takes a deep breath to reset her temper while Casey desperately seeks again, “Right?”, and faces Kokei as well to corroborate, “She’s right, we might still be on track but we’d be doing better with you here. Your expertise in not only problem solving but comprehensive explanations has always been a valuable asset to the team, and without you we feel that blunder daily. Even though Ember here does also assist well with difficulties, Casey usually has trouble interpreting her aid.”

A frown emerges on Kokei’s hung face while Casey shrieks, “Wait, hold on, since when was I the problem? I can still feel your resentment, Ember help me I think Alina is planning to get me fired!” to which Ember assures softly, “I too believe her response was not sincere, and that given that she genuinely contemplated it she’d likely find the process too tedious to be of worth.”

While Casey continues to whine and freak out, Kokei takes a deep breath, surrounded by the nearly perfect screen of the office that her colleagues are in, the office that she used to go to every day of the week.

With such high resolution, the screen brings the impression of truly being within the room, and it nearly delivers on such immersion.

However, while the three colleagues were dressed in appropriate work attire, Kokei was not.

While the three colleagues are seated on the simple chairs with minimal cushioning, designed more for productivity than comfort, Kokei is on a chair designed for leisure, entirely different from the rest of the office’s aesthetic.

While she may be surrounded by her home, she wasn’t truly in it.

And it wasn’t clear when, or if she’d ever really be.

If she’d ever get to be with her friends again.

If she’d ever be able to be with her life again.

At the same time, Dana is in her own room, seated on the same type of chair, dressed to better fit the professional atmosphere of her own meeting, although she too wears a frown with a hung ahead while listening to a familiar man of about forty years in age lecture, “Now we are trying our best to keep this ship afloat, but without its captain to give us a direction we’re hardly getting anywhere. We need you back in the office.”

Similarly to Kokei, Dana too is enveloped in a holographic display, wrapping all around her to create the illusion that she is in the familiar meeting room with the glossy white long table top shaped as an oval where eight adults are seated in business attire, all on executive seats.

Unlike previously where only a portion of the room was integrated into her own, back when concealing her environment was not a priority, now she has fully transitioned her space into the screen, hiding any part of her true surroundings which only further drowns her in the atmosphere full of discontent executives.

She’s seated on the same leisurely chair that’s standard to all the rooms, not quite the style of an Executive chair, thus providing a less professional impression compared to the real chairs of the office, once more segregating her from her own company.

Raising her head back up with a sigh, Dana in a calm attitude to avoid any unnecessary escalation asserts, “I will return when I can, but until then this is the best I can still run things. Every day I keep an eye on our projects and their states, our shares, our ratings, I’m still very much focused on this company as I always have been. We’ve been doing well for a decade, I’m not going to suddenly drop everything in the matter of a week.”

Jumping in, the woman with long black hair leans forward and contends, “It hasn’t been just a week though, we have been flying blind for a while now. And if you are keeping track of our shares, then you’ll know we’re still declining like we have been constantly. People are starting to notice that we simply aren’t who we used to be, to them we’ve become a shadow of who we once were. Nobody talks about us anymore, we’re hardly on the news, we’ve even noticed a slight decline in interviewees for new employees, and while it may not be drastic enough to endanger our stability it is still a change worthy of note. It’s clear what’s happening, people are starting to give up on us, and it honestly makes sense because we’re not giving them much.”

Dana shakes her head and argues back, “We have many ongoing projects with releases in under a year, the pipeline is nowhere near rusty. We’re not stalling, sure maybe we’re currently on a stagger when it comes to the rise of popularity but at the same time we’ve reached so high up that it’s only natural that we’d drift around here. But come on, our company is strong, we are strong, we’re not going to drop anytime soon. Maybe we aren’t at the center of any controversies but that’s because we’re consistent, we’re doing what works and that’s more than enough.”

Also leaning forwards, the woman in the ponytail sighs before declaring, “I’m sorry but that’s simply not at all true. There is always more growth to be had, and even if we’ve reached our peak, that does not excuse the lack of attention. What is happening is not consistency, it’s decline, the numbers show it and you know it. And I hate to say this but it’s true, if you look at the data you’ll see that we were constantly growing all until about ten years ago where we then suddenly stopped moving. It wasn’t reaching a peak, there was no smoothening of the curve, we just suddenly stopped rising and started falling. I think all of us in the room can attest to the fact that the company just has not been anywhere close to the same as it did back with the last one in charge, what was once seen as a miracle that revolutionized the Superverse and made advancements that couldn’t be done in centuries all in under a decade’s time is now just a standard research and technologies company, just another piece of hay in the stack, something forgettable.”

Stepping in, one of the men assures, “We here all respect you, we know you have worked with us for a very long time and you are by no means a rookie, which is why we won’t make excuses for you. I admit that the shift was jarring at first, but we knew that you were someone we could trust to keep us moving forward, and we excused the first few hiccups as just some adjusting, I figure that moving from assistant to CEO isn’t the most smooth promotion. But at this point there’s no excuse for the state of this company, there’s little pride now in saying where we work, and it hurts to know that. I know he chose to put you in charge knowing you would run this the way you’d see fit, but the main difference we’ve seen in leadership is a lack thereof. We need that spark again, we need that unbounding perseverance to try anything even if it means massive sacrificial budgeting, even if it terrifies us on the board because believe me not a day went by that I worried we’d just suddenly vanish from the map back when he was around. But we need that kind of energy here to keep us going, you have all the assets in the worlds so we just need you to do something with it.”

Immediately about to contend with the heavy allegation, Dana opens her mouth to speak, but not a sound is emitted. Instead, she holds her mouth open for a second before closing it back, and then glancing up to the side, diverting eye contact from the executives to stare off into the distance, deep in contemplation as the words settle in.

Her forehead wrinkles as she ponders deeply, understanding what was said but even more deciphering the undesirable truth in that, the fact that she wasn’t the same as the man who handed his life to her.

She had what he had, but she couldn’t use it the way he did.

She wasn’t him.

Concurrently with the meeting, a monolithic golden wall is breached with a great hole bursting out from within in a violent pop, distorting the golden material oddly into a golden watery substance, causing the wall to splash outwards as if the seemingly metallic construct is somehow a liquid.

The sudden explosion sends golden droplets ahead away from the building, great volumes of liquid spilling over the world, opaque in texture yet with thin structure. The further the droplets move away, the more they spread out, their trajectories outward from the initial explosion, unveiling the hole made without warning.

However, that hole is obstructed by another entity also having been propelled out of the wall, albeit much larger with a solid humanoid structure. The heavy wind waves the four white locks of scarce hair on the similarly colored head on the predominantly black body, for it’s draped in an aged leather biker jacket and black pants both traced with silver lines. The arms are crossed over the chest with closed fists both tinted in blue light, which grazes the wall’s liquid before propelling it off.

Strands of golden liquid continue to disperse, spreading away from the man’s intense azure glare, a man in the heat of a mission. His hair continues to wave behind, his face gradually becoming fully exposed as bits of liquid gold disperse away.

Not missing a beat, the man pulls his right arm back, aiming it back into the hole, to which a holographic blue cable projects out of his hand and into the aperture.

He then jerks his arm forwards, causing the strangely materialized cable to thrash and pull aggressively, functioning just as a physical cable would with perfect simulative accuracy, and from the other end of the cable echoes the raspy screaming laughter of a senile man. His body concurrently also spins due to the sudden force of the throw.

That odd scream grows louder until the other end of the cable manages to surpass the one who projected it, and that end is anchored to the chest of another man dressed in a brown overcoat over a black jumpsuit, with not even one strand of hair on his heavily wrinkled and seemingly malnourished body. His arms flail back and forth, as while the first to jump has a fully tuned mindset refined with pure focus, this second man is the quintessential opposite.

At the same time the man who broke the barrier completes his spin, facing the hole in the golden building, and he holds his left hand out which in turn triggers the manifestation of a holographic wall the same shade of blue to appear before him, sized just large enough to be right in front of him and the other yelling man behind him. Right as the barrier forms, it absorbs a burst of orange bolts which strike with loud whooshes: laserfire.

Cleared as the remnants of the liquid debris drops past, through the gaping hole breached into the building is a wide white hallway with visible doorways along both halls, and filling the halls are adults dressed in clothing most of which resemble robes in how they wrap around yet are given a casual, modern makeover with unique patterns and differing lengths with some being about the size of hoodies. Despite the exotic yet casual appearance they chaotically scatter and scream, flailing their arms about as they leap into nearby doorways.

Inside the dense crowd of terrified civilians are a distinct group of men dressed in formal business attire, black blazers over white sleek shirts and black pants to match. Their blazers have a few noticeable blue light dots lined up primarily by where the handkerchief pocket would be. Concealing their eyes on their otherwise visible heads which are adorned with the same exact hair style–short and flat in a nearly militaristic formality–are glasses with opaque black lenses on a samely textured frame, providing an alien, unwelcoming appearance.

What is more concerning however is that protruding from each of the men’s wrist, off devices resembling watches, are devices that resemble handguns with handles jutting from the watch face which then connects to the barrel, although on the outer side of the barrel juts out a minor holographic display about the size of a scope’s lens. All of those device’s, from what would be defined from the barrel’s aperture although not quite due to it being enclosed by a series of wires similar to a radiator, project orange bolts in rapid succession similarly to a machine gun, as each and every bolt emits with a deep whoosh and bright light giving a heavier weight that would be more fitting of a turret.

All of the men march in one direction: towards the hole. Leading the charge at the front and center of the regiment is a man with noticeably unique attire, for instead of a blazer he wears a regular bomber jacket, still black, just sleeker. He also noticeably does not wear glasses, fully exposing his nearly senile age, as his face is wrinkled and bald with only a faint white goatee between his sharp, elfish ears. Different from the rest of the group as well is the old man’s weapon, for rather than it being attached to his body, instead it’s a handgun held by a handle traditionally, which is designed more like a standard 21st century Colt, highly oldschool for an era so advanced. And yet, his weapon was only stronger.

The man at the front aims his handgun, and he fires a burst of three bullets in succession, specifically physical copper bullets with rings wrapped around the body, each emitting an orange light. Their sharp noses glide effortlessly through the air, amongst the lasers of its comrades, all towards a single target.

Perceiving the bullets before they were even processed, the Tempest’s sharp azureus eyes widen and his body is suddenly pushed downward by a blue burst, forcefully accelerating his plummet to narrowly avoid the bullets as the projection wall is relinquished.

At the front of the horde, the man in front halts, watching his target vanish from sight. Behind him, the men glance at one another with puzzled eyes, unsure what they just witnessed and if their jobs were completed for them. While the man glares with focused eyes, his comrades shrug behind him while a few adults slowly peer out from doorways, noticing the sudden end of hellfire, wondering if the battle had concluded.

Instead however, the leader turns his head to the side, and in a naturally irritated voice of an old man exhausted with the incompetency of his men he orders, “What the hell are you doing, discussing lunch? They’re still out there, get to the pods!”

All of the men behind him nod and stammer, turning around and sprinting down the hallway shamefully but hastily. The old leader then turns his head back towards the open window, and he groans to himself before murmuring, “What the hell did you get us all into, Dick?”

Out of the sky the man in the leather jacket and the one in the brown overcoat drop, passing distant golden skyscrapers with cylindrical bodies similar to pillars. Up in the distance are more pillars on islands of thick clouds, all under the bright cyan supersun giving light to the blue sky of the sunny day.

The bald man flails his arms while laughing maniacally, his body spread out as in his hands he grips his revolver-styled launcher, the coils around the barrel shining in the sunlight.

On the other hand, the man of white strands keeps his arms tightly by his side as well as his legs against each other as he dives straight down in silence, his hair flapping in the wind as every second they drop multiple floors towards the ground of the golden city.

Straight down through azureus eyes the man stares firmly, planning in the middle of the drop with complete concentration, not a bead of sweat on his head as if he didn’t even register the dire situation he’s in, although that technically isn’t too different from his acquaintance’s unhinged delight on display.

Through those keen eyes the ground below is observed, the heavy traffic of pods below him, speeding at great lethal paces, with such a density that it appears impossible to pass through.

However, what was more concentrated on was what’s beyond the unreachable traffic, the white ground with light gray networks to distinguish roads, green parks in the far distance in open blocks with vibrant trees and gardens, but more importantly the massive crowd of people standing on the white floor staring up at him with gaping mouths in awe and horror, positioned away from the estimated collision spot of the two unfortunate bodies.

But that was just generously granting an open landing zone.

With the scan complete, the man refocuses on what’s right ahead of him, the speeding pods only a few more feet from obliterating him and the man who can’t stop laughing.

Still maintaining the cable connecting the two, the Tempest yanks his right arm, pulling the Alchemist towards him right as both of them dive straight in front of a sporty pod, passing through the top lane as cables begin projecting out of the Tempest’s body rapidly, jerking his body omnidirectionally as he’s pulled to the side to avoid an SUV, then boosted downwards while pulled at an angle to pass a racing motorbike with a translucent case to protect the driver inside, and then a flurry of cables cooperating with a strange curled boost spins his body like a bullet right through the path of a massive semi truck, all while holding the leash of the Alchemist who laughs mindlessly along the way. He passes more pods, operating his grapples to steer him clear of the rapid traffic without moving a finger.

Wide eyed the Tempest scans the traffic without moving his iris, without focusing on any particular corner of sight, for rather he instead consumes the maximum vision he can and interprets it all simultaneously. Reflecting off his blue eyes are the images of speeding trucks and vans, moving so fast that they’d seem untrackable, and yet perfectly in grace the Tempest maneuvers around them, even able to protect the dog on his leash who continues to bark.

And then through a sliver between two trucks, an end, the lower bound, the space beyond the bottom lane.

Eyes remaining sharp, the Tempest maintains his gaze as numerous cables protrude from his body for one yank and vanish, constantly readjusting his position, constantly reangling his trajectory with speeds incomprehensible at real time to the average human. And yet, his body is spun again towards the final few pods before then hellfiring a barrage of cables in a cone shape straight down, grasping onto a horde of trucks at the very bottom, forming a floor, a barrier that rejects entry.

But using that barrier the Tempest propels himself even further, catapulting his body with the barrage of grapples and relinquishing it to give him and the Alchemist the perfect spacing between lanes in the corner between four trucks to get all the way through, and flawlessly they do, passing straight through the traffic unscathed.

Now all that’s left in the drop is the open freefall, the freefall straight to the hard ground at speeds that wouldn’t leave the body recognizable. Straight down to the white floor between pillars, where the mob of civilians watch in horror.

Whereas this would be a good time to pull away, to hold away from the ground, the Tempest instead throws his right arm forwards, chucking the Alchemist straight to the ground as though he had suddenly become a pyschopathic murderer, slamming his ally straight into the hard unforgiving ground with terrible brutality.

The Alchemist however doesn’t even stop laughing, even when reaching feet from death, even though he has no idea what is going on and if he is going to breathe after the next few seconds. Even then he keeps laughing pleasantly, as if he’s on a rollercoaster.

Just about five feet from striking the ground and splattering his guts in front of all the men, women, and children within the crowd, the Alchemist is suddenly wrapped around by the cable once anchoring simply to its chest, for instead it swiftly crawls over his body, forming a sort of harness that slithers around his shoulders and waist.

Then from the cables projects a great barrage more, intersecting off the wire and spreading across the block, sticking onto the walls of the distant buildings both close and far while also then bridging out to join the cables together for greater tension like a massive blue spiderweb, some cables extending for tens of meters. Multiple rings of intersecting cables stands in the air, with countless weaving threads filling the streets, an incredible sight especially one nobody in the crowd thought they’d see.

Suspended immediately with all the force absorbed in the wires, the Alchemist is halted with his fingers dangling just inches from the ground, and right beside him lands the Tempest in an abrupt dive, not having used any suspension cables of his own, instead just crashing right into the white ground, leaving a great explosion of dust behind what could only be imagined to be a stomach-wrenching sight.

Continually the smoke spreads over the block, consuming part of the crowd at the front, causing them to woah and shout.

What’s more is that seconds after the crash, all of the cables composing the vast spiderweb abruptly vanishes as the controller has relinquished the suspension, no longer maintaining the net.

Amongst the crowd people murmur and whisper to each other in disbelief and confusion, having not a clue what they just witnessed, but more so what would be revealed when the fog would dissipate. In the crowd mothers preemptively cover their children’s eyes and teenagers glance away to avoid the sight.

However, in the silence past the crowd, in the fog the mob waits to unveil, charges the Tempest and Alchemist both, dashing straight through the crowd to which the people begin screaming in shock and terror, instinctively diverging away from the two’s path, unable to even comprehend the sight of a phantom as he races through the streets at inhuman speeds of pods with a blue residual trail left behind in the zigzag of the path like a lightning bolt to avoid civilians, dragging the Alchemist by another leash.

The crowd watches the two zoom through the great mob, not wanting to get in the way of the speeding train as they toss phrases of perplexion such as, “Who are they,” “Is that what the gunshots were about,” and “Are they Exhumans?”

Finally to the end of the mob the two reach, passing another family who shriek and squeal in fear from the strangers, witnessing an old man with strange four locks of hair on an otherwise bald head running while holding a holographic leash which pulls another old fully bald man carrying what appears to be a firearm, moving so fast that his feet aren’t even on the ground.

Even away from the main mob, there is still a vast crowd of people in the streets watching the escape, all pointing and shouting in confusion, for there was no escape from the crowd as none of the streets were truly empty, leaving many obstacles in the way.

Now that the main obstructive mob was passed however, the Tempest slows down as the residual trail becomes fainter before vanishing entirely as does the leash holding the Alchemist, allowing him back to the ground to which he immediately continues running, his weapon still in hand as he glances back to the huge group.

Observing the countless crowd, the Alchemist chuckles and remarks, “Well, looks like I’m a celebrity now. If we weren’t on the radar before, we are now!”

In front of the Alchemist, the Tempest keeps his head up, scanning the streets and buildings, his eyes still sharp as his focus hasn’t dwindled, not by a neuron. He runs past hordes of casual city people also wearing clothing resembling robes although modernized, who upon noticing him run out of the way, although for most he has to strafe and weave around by himself.

In a calm voice he prioritizes, “We’re not going to get far on foot nor are we going to find somewhere to hide, we need to get to the pod before they catch up. Dammit, where did we leave it? I know it was around here-,” before breaking out into a dry cough which he instinctively catches with his backhand, and whilst in his sprint he glances at the back of his hand–which is angled specifically to conceal it from sight other than his own– with a suddenly concerned expression as though met with a disturbing sight. Still deep in the greater current chaos however, he lowers his hand and returns his focus up.

While continuing to scan the buildings he approaches, he can hear the Alchemist wheeze and whine, “You know, I really should get one of those hover skates, I know they look stupid and childish but oh boy would it really save me on this unwanted cardio.”

Not focusing on the unconstructive complaints, the Tempest focuses on the light gray roads which pods drive up from and down to in the distance. One of the pods in particular descends down towards one of many silver poles beside the road each with a holographic oval screen, resembling parking meters spread out by about fifty feet.

Still on the run the Alchemist runs right through a large family, straight into the arms of a father holding his daughter’s hand, to which they let go to let him get through instinctively. The father faces up at the careless runner and shouts, “Hey, watch i-,” before immediately gulping and quietly realizing, “-...wait, he has a gun,” to which he picks up his daughter and begins running away from the area.

Able to dodge the crowd while the Alchemist simply rams through it, the Tempest’s eyes light up, and he relievingly marks, “There it is! Quick, summon the pod from the closest meter, open the front doors, and get the engine on and revved, we need to dash out of here as soon as we’re in! There’s no time to wait!”

Perplexed by the daunting command when he was still behind, struggling to maneuver through the bustling city crowd of people shouting to the realization of the exposed weapon, the Alchemist shouts bewilderedly, “Wait what, how am I supposed to do that?? I mean I appreciate how clearly you depend on me, of course it makes sense, I can do just about anything! And you know, I would really like to drive your pod, it looks fun, so thanks for the offer! But I’m not sure if that’s faster to do than-.”

Before the Alchemist could finish his self indulgent rejection, the screen emitting from the closest parking meter flashes green with a code popping up reading ‘R43,’ before a blue light then projects from the pole itself through a tight channel to the road, which expands and miraculously reveals the matte black pod hovering about half a foot over the road.

Right as the light vanishes, the front two doors of the pod dematerialize with whooshes automatically at the same time as it suddenly roars, its engine awakening from a distance. But not only does it awaken, the engine noticeably begins revving up, almost like it’s growling, its ferocious intensity on display without a body inside the vehicle.

Only a couple seconds after the pod is summoned, the Tempest has already reached it, throwing himself into the driver’s seat through the open door which then closes right after.

Behind and fighting through the terrified crowd only to give up and begin running on the road itself due to its spaciousness, for it’s also a horrible danger to run on it, the Alchemist throws his hands in the air and cries out, “Wait what, since when were those meters voice command?”

On the front driver’s side of the pod where the door just closed, the smaller window dematerializes open to let the Tempest pop his head out so he can face back at the one obstacle holding him from boosting off, which he glares at while shouting, “Come on!”

Once again however he breaks into an intense chain of coughs, which he catches again with his hand, the dryness of the cough similar to that of a sickness. Again he glances at the impact point on his hand–again at an obscuring angle as though to hide the view–, too with a similarly perturbed expression.

Panting and wheezing as if he were on the verge of a stroke, as he was, the Alchemist thrashes his arms and cries, “Coming!” as he scurries towards the vehicle from the back.

After tsking to the companion’s immobility, the Tempest diverts his attention from his hand, raises his head up, and peers keenly in interest.

Far behind the black pod that the Alchemist trudges towards, a fleet of black SUV pods approaches, soaring below the traffic line to have an unobstructed path. The fleet is shaped as a V, similar to the formation of a jet squadron, and even from afar their roars can be heard as they crawl through the streets.

In the nose of the formation, the very front of the fleet, is a slightly different pod in that it’s sleeker and sportslike, not as large as the SUV but rather something built more for speed. It’s black just the same, but its sharp face is more menacing, leading the pact with a roar.

Through the semi transparent windshield tinted black sits the old bald leader with a fiery glare, his eyes setting on his target far down the street, but reachable.

Making eye contact with the leader, the Tempest’s eyes contract back into a more intense glare, and he reiterates with greater intensity: “Get in here!”

Finally making it to the side of the pod, the Alchemist throws himself through the second open door, to which it also is covered up the precise instant the pod bolts forward with a deafening roar, immediately tilting up to just by a few inches dodge the roof of the pod that had parked right in front, whose driver shouts and cowers with his hands over his head from nearly being beheaded.

The driver turns around to face the pod, which was already blocks away and continuing to ascend up towards the traffic, leaving behind the man mentally scarred.

He then instinctively shouts again as multiple other booms shake the sky above him, and he faces up to watch the fleet zoom up the streets in hot pursuit.

“Moving on, we should get to the report, we don’t have all day now do we miss?” suggests one of the men in the wrapping screen of the meeting room, his hands held together and placed on the table’s edge, his body leaning forwards to convey urgency.

Being called back from the clouds, Dana lowers her head and returns her focus to the meeting board surrounding her, as she was indeed still in the meeting.

Already off on a shaky start, Dana sighs in knowing that today wouldn’t be much better than the others, but regardless she nods her head and tries her best to give a warm smile.

Calm once more and prepared to proceed professionally, she agrees, “You’re right, why don’t we start with you today? How is Project Sunnet moving along? How are the negotiations on expanding towards the Rim side going?”

While the segway at first would be inferred to be natural, for the man showing initiative in the meeting would allude to him being prepared with news to provide, instead he becomes startled, nearly jumping in his seat and glancing around the room desperately as though he in fact was lacking in a presentation.

Perplexed by the paradoxical response, Dana leans forward and calmly inquires, “Is there a problem?”

Shaking his head and trying to readjust himself, the man takes a deep break and realigns his sight back to Dana. He then explains in an attemptively nonchalant voice, “No no, it’s fine. The negotiations are going, that is for sure, we’re just having some minor hiccups, but we’ll get that underway.”

To the man’s dismay, Dana leans forth more with greater intrigue to what was designed to be a statement to be passed off.

She stares earnestly at the board member and pursues, “What kind of hiccups?”

Put on the spotlight with no way to divert attention but instead forced to confront the boss, the man lowers his head and sighs before then admitting, “Well…I guess the problem is that these satellites you want us to put up, they’re strong, and they have a lot of capabilities that give the ability to do things that we don’t intend to do, but others may. And…well…putting them in a warzone is an issue that’s been holding us back from getting permission to acquire the proper security packages.”

Immediately comprehending the baseline of the challenge, Dana lowers her own head and sighs in disappointment, but disappointment she had foreseen.

Even still the man continues explaining: “I mean technically if one of those factions managed to take control of even one satellite themselves, they could cause devastating harm to multiple Earths and effectively seize control in one fell swoop. Project Sunnet is a good concept, and it’s very humanitarian, I mean currently with how it’s set up it’s doing well and I think it’s a success already, the idea of trying to bring connection to planets that are struggling was a magnificent idea, and it does give X-Prints a good image. But I mean…come on, don’t you think it’s at least going a little too far to take it to this extent?”

Struck by the heavy anvil of the question that imposed a doubt said by the man who otherwise seems genuinely supportive, Dana sighs and raises her head back up, doing her best to contend sincerely, “I understand that this is dangerous, but there are millions of people in the Rim who need this aid, whole generations of people tortured daily, who’s lives are constantly being played with and just need an ounce of normalcy. Even if the fighting never ends, at least I want to give those people a way to keep moving, that was always my main intention with this program. I just…don’t want to give up when we’re this close.”

After that heartfelt speech, the weight of the burden only increased on the man in the board in charge of the project, who sighs again knowing how difficult it is to try turning down the CEO’s request regardless of how impossible it is.

Keeping his head down, he apprehensively assures, “I’ll get it done, miss.”

At the table, the woman with the ponytail leans forward and queries with askance, “I apologize for this accusation, but if I may ask, are you sure you’re not funneling too much budget into what effectively feels like an attempt to become the solution of another multigenerational problem?”

Befuddled at first from the strange question, Dana glances at the woman and innocently asks, “How so?”

Leaning back and interlocking her fingers to stretch them, she elaborates coldly, “Well, a lot of people across the Superverse have come out to accuse Project Sunnet as a blatant attempt to try once again appearing as the ‘saviors’ of another unfortunate situation and be praised enough that we’re put back in the public eye positively. I mean, come on, researching into experimental technologies to then, with the aid of world governments, implementing them in a way that serves as a humanitarian effort to aid groups suffering certain problems, I mean this really does feel like a retread of when we contained the Exhuman terrorism problem here.”

Raising her eyebrow with a peculiar glare, Dana asserts defensively, “‘Blatant attempt?’ Seeking appraisal? Is that how people are judging this effort? Come on, those people are just eager to put a negative spin on anything, I mean how can you look at a program like that and say that we’re just attention seekers? And this isn’t me trying to copy anything we’ve done before, this is me trying to solve a problem that ten Earths have been stuck in for centuries, are we suddenly not allowed to do good more than once now? The steps you listed are just the natural steps to execute a program like this, it being similar to something done previously is not a sign of us trying to replicate anything, that’s just the natural procedure. We shouldn’t be focusing on those cynical criticisms, there are plenty of people who love what we’re doing and there will be plenty more when we have this set up in the place that arguably needs it most!”

Groaning quietly from the defense, the woman in the ponytail shakes her head and, in a gentler voice as though needing to comfort a child, tries to articulate smoothly: “I know your intentions may be genuine, and I’m not saying every detail of what people say is true or something we should even be considering. I’m just trying to bring up the point that we’re putting a lot into a program that at this point is likely as far as it’ll get, and it may be a good point to let it sit as is instead of trying to reach for a status beyond our grasp. The dangers and amount of work to do what you want is greater than what we should be trying to afford, and the way you’re doing it isn’t sufficient. You’re trying to spend more than what we make, at least back when we were dampening the Exhuman violence that wasn’t what we were only doing, we were making other technology for commercial purposes too, even if we sold it out specifically to other professional industries we were still keeping profit in mind because simply put he knew that it was the only way we could even properly fund an effort to that scale. We aren’t anywhere near bankruptcy, don’t worry, but we can’t just act like we don’t need to make any more money because that is not at all true, and sooner or later if we don’t prioritize survival we’re going to collapse. We aren’t a nonprofit organization, we’re an empire, and we need to keep that in mind.”

Surrounded by the digital reflection of the office in the headquarters of the corporation she sworn to uphold the legacy of, Dana silently watches with a frown on her face; lectured by her own employees on the fallacies of her leading orders, Dana receives the barrage from worlds away yet point black at her lowered face as she listens to the board executive continue, “He knew that, and he knew how to keep this empire thriving while also being a hero that most people could trust in. But now it just feels like we’re trying to look like that while not understanding how to be it. And that’s what the general public is realizing.”

Concomitantly, the Alchemist’s body is ragdolled against the back of the black leather passenger seat inside the hollering pod, losing grip of his handgun to which he instinctively desperately tries to reassert his hold, leading to him haphazardly juggling his lethal weapon as beside him the clear window provides a few of the golden city at a blur, blocks being passed in seconds.

On the other side of the frantic old man sits the silent, composed Tempest, his posture upright and his keen eyes on the windshield ahead as he wields the pod.

Outside in the streets, the matte black pod races between the golden pillar-shaped skyscrapers, above the crowds of shouting startled people and below the main traffic as pods race above in dense packs.

Behind the matte pod is a fleet of distant black pods, most of which are SUVs with the exception of a sleeker pod which leads the charge. They follow in several lanes with a tight formation, an attribute of a professional organization, one with the training to make them a formidable pursuer.

They also all remain below the traffic, utilizing the majorly open space with the exception of a few pods that descend from the traffic for parking or ascend from the surface up, although those pods swerve away from the chase, opting to even traverse to nearby intersections to avoid the whole street.

Inside the pod, the Alchemist finally regains his tenacity on his weapon, and he lowers it by his side while panting heavily from a mixture of the thrill and physical exertion. He then moves his attention to the windshield, and peers curiously.

On the windshield of the matte pod is an overlaid holographic HUD with standard widgets such as a speedometer, map, and model of the vehicle to indicate rotation relative to the planet’s gravitation. On top of that however are several video feeds providing views outside the pod, such as one at the top center providing view of the back similar to a rearview mirror, and two on the sides providing views from the sides similar to other mirrors, although all of the feeds are also enhanced with additional UI that supplements the pods in the footage with highlights and numbers indicating their own speeds.

On the bottom of the windshield is also a three dimensional model of the pod to provide a full surrounding view of any vehicles close to it, although currently there are none due to the distance the pod has from its chasers.

Finding relief in the safe distance from the pursuers, the Alchemist sighs and mentions nonchalantly, “Well, looks like we escaped them-,” right before the entire pod shakes, throwing his body forwards nearly against the dashboard to which his body is suddenly suspended to prevent collision, throwing him back against his chair.

Unmoved but disturbed by the shake, the Tempest glances at the windshield with squinted eyes, specifically to the rearview display.

In the rearview display, it is revealed that many of the SUV’s chasing them appear to be firing large purple energy bolts from what at first seemed to be an air curtain at the nose, but rather is a discrete launcher which projects more bolts in slow succession like a railgun.

Knowing now the cause of the ruckus, the Tempest grits his teeth and returns his focus to the center of the windshield while the Alchemist watches in intrigue.

Out in the streets below the traffic, the matte pod sways from side to side, strafing to avoid the incoming barrage, rising and descending to try making the best of the space it has, although constrained by the skyscrapers it’s limited to only the width the road allows in the sky.

While for several seconds the pod manages to steer clear of any shots due to its rapid shifts and movements, leaping from position to position to carefully dodge each bolt, one of the bolts manages to strike it from the back, causing it to stutter in the air before continuing.

Inside the pod, the stutter is felt by both passengers, and the driver is quick to glance at the rearview display, which then according to the mental command zooms in towards one of the vehicles behind, specifically the sporty one, and the display hones in on the old man at the wheel with a stern, determined face.

After a grunt to refocus on steering the pod better, the Tempest hacks with another rough cough caught and admits begrudgingly, “I don’t have enough space for evasion here, these buildings are fencing me off and giving them an easy target. We’re also not doing a very good job at slipping away when we’re all they see, I need to find some way to give us an opening…,” before he then curiously glances up through the windshield, specifically at the dense traffic above, full of such quantities of pods that there isn’t even any visible space between them.

Astonished by his partner’s daring tactics, the Alchemist queries with a shocked tone, “Wait, I mean I don’t really care much myself if we have to use some ‘shields’ if you know what I mean, but I wasn’t thinking you’d actually use other people to take the shots, I mean damn how dark are you, I thought little kids were fans of you!”

Groaning from the clear miscommunication, the Tempest shakes his head and elucidates thoroughly, “Ekitai, remember, these people are government agents of this world, it’s their job to protect these people. They’re well trained enough to not shoot so carelessly if there are civilians in the way, there won’t be any casualties. Now we just need to worry about getting home, luckily they shouldn’t be able to easily track us because we’re under webmasks and Oria-, I mean the encryption is good enough. At the worst we’ll have a week or so here.”

Unsurprisingly the Alchemist just shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly and throws out, “Well hey, you know me, I love hopping to other Earths, besides this one is starting to get stale for my tastes. It’s just the girls who you’re going to have to explain to, and you can have fun doing that because may I remind you this is on you.”

Again the Tempest groans from the sly cast, and he remarks, “I’m supposed to be home planning, I’m under the impression you don’t remember why we're here,” before he chooses to conclude the conversation by raising the accelerator, causing the Alchemist’s body to fly into the back of the seat again with a yelp.

From the perspective of the lead chaser who is seated in the front of his own pod alone, the matte pod inclines up and rises towards the heavy traffic in the same procedure of merging into the main road despite housing criminals.

Watching the pod make its way towards the bottomost lane without hesitation regardless of most likely comprehending how it’ll in turn escalate the conflict, the old man driving grumbles, “This person might be as stupid as Dick,” before he takes the only option there is for him, raising the pod to manuever towards a merge too.

At the head of the chase, driving with no constraints the Tempest maneuvers the pod up towards the bottom lane of traffic, and rather than slowing down to make an opening in the tight seal he instead opts to accelerate even more, causing the engine to whir up more intensely.

Bolting straight into the crowd with sudden boosts that make the pod shake, the Tempest drives the pod straight through the bottom lane of the traffic, reaching even to the next one above before then tapering flat, curving forward to fully merge into the lane, now surrounded by countless pods of various sizes and colors, moving at a much slower rate which the Tempest is forced to adjust to.

Behind the matte pod, both the leading sporty pod along with the SUVs backing it up merge into the traffic too, although all of the SUV’s are forced to slow down to properly assimilate into the stream while their leader is first to make a swift convergence.

It’s only seconds later however that the other SUVs join the flow, some able to find windows sooner than others, but rapidly they slip into the stream and pursue.

Roaring and whirring, the matte pod stays ahead, pulling past neighbors to then lean into the next lane, passing pickup trucks on the right to enter their lean before then accelerating more to pass a minivan and overtaking their position.

In haste to move as fast as possible, the pod opts to change lanes as soon as possible, which involves sliding only a few feet in front of a vehicle before then accelerating again, making tight maneuvers to weave through the traffic, although doing so causes the pods being cut off to have to break and stutter, disrupting the flow of traffic and most definitely shocking the drivers inside whom may be anyone ranging from teenagers, young adults, and parents driving their family of children. With one pod stopping, multiple others have to as well, and while they’re forced to keep moving as to not entirely dismantle the river’s flow it leaves the roads startling to traverse and unsafe to be in.

Inside the matte pod however the Tempest’s face is entirely unconcerned for those whom he’s disrupting, rather his stern expression holds only concentration on his driving and those pursuing him with no space for other considerations.

On his cold face, his azure glare only slightly moves to glance at each of the displays on the windshield, but they mostly remain dead set in the center ahead where he can view the semi trucks he’s constantly passing.

Not too far behind the matte pod, the SUVs weave through the traffic as well, which due to the Tempest’s antics have already become shaken up, leading to them slowing down and spreading out in such a way that the chasers are more easily able to slip by as the only few still determined to proceed without relent.

Ahead of one of the SUV’s, the matte pod flashes again and again, but every time it becomes visible it then immediately swerves into another lane, vanishing again behind another van, another truck, always able to find cover to remain out of sight.

Overhead the traffic is noticeably shaken up from where the matte pod had passed, although many of them still remain driving, especially those up ahead who have yet to react to the chase and are still clogging the lanes innocently.

Even further up ahead, the traffic continues with seemingly no end until the edge of the island far far in the distance where the golden pillars come to an end, visible but requiring a great length to reach. Beyond the edge however, the traffic noticeably splits like the branch of a tree, diverging into multiple other networks that then continuously branch off into more, which then move towards the various other city islands in the distance, for the island being driven over was only one of innumerable, leading to an open space with a myriad of networks all flowing together like an intricate web far from the linear simplicity of the city road.

Accelerating towards another large truck, the matte pod gradually slows down to view other options, although to its dismay along both lanes beside it are also trucks, walling off its path as a consequence of traversing such a chaotic path.

Forced to slow down, the matte pod assumes the same speed as the truck ahead of it, taking its time to seek another opening and for now hugging close to its border.

Inside the pod, the Tempest raises his head up to the pod’s ceiling, where the clear display provides a view of the upper lane, although ironically there is also a truck right above him, blocking him off from rising to the next lane. However, returning at the worst times, his head is brought down upon a series of violent hacking coughs which he shields using his entire elbow, momentarily distracting him with a pair of coughs followed by another, and then another, with every next one being more rough than the last.

At the same time the Alchemist squints at the rear view display from noticing an approaching black SUV, and he then turns around to look down the interior of the vehicle, to which his eyes open and he begins to panic, “Uhhhhhhh…is that a problem?”

Taking notice to the undescriptive report, the Tempest lowers his elbow and glances too at the rear view display, and his glare tightens even more as rather than falling into panic he only further focuses up.

Behind the matte pod is one of the pursuing SUV’s, tailing right behind with an entirely clear opening to the back of their target’s vehicle, moving smoothly behind without lag.

Inside the SUV are two men in formal business uniforms with opaque lenses, same as the ones in the building, and the one on the left side advises, “Take the shot.”

Only a second to strategize, the Tempest glances up, then at the rear view screen, then down, and then tightens his glare once again.

Right in front of the SUV which begins to make a whirring sound by the front air curtain which secretly functions as an anti-vehicle launcher, the pod it’s targeting abruptly plummets down, immediately vanishing from sight as its engine too silences.

Dropping right in front of an incoming speeding pickup truck from behind, the matte pod drops out of the traffic suddenly, falling tens of feet a second in free fall as its engine makes no sound.

It then roars again, and the pod rockets at a low angle, blasting off with such strength that its roar echoes for blocks, and in a second the pod slips straight into the traffic again, noticeably past the herd of trucks.

Further ahead now, the matte pod rises back into the traffic, and once again rises up to the lane above. It does so again too, incrementally rising now far from the SUV which nearly fired what could have been a point blank hit.

Hastily it strafes from lane to lane and rises up again, climbing up to the top of the road where it could then potentially more easily slip out unfound.

Above the matte pod as it rises up to the next lane, now right below the top lane as its ascension is nearly complete, there appears to be another lane right above that upper one, another line topping it off but this one exclusively consisting of black SUVs.

Following with the matte pod’s speed, the mob of SUVs guard over the top of the road, thus by continuing to the next lane the matte pod would once again make itself an open target this time for multiple enemies all waiting patiently as ordered, waiting for the fish to take the bait and grab onto the hook to be pulled out of the water away from freedom.

This fish however isn’t so clueless to the world beyond the ocean, for inside the pod the Tempest takes notice to the lane awaiting the top, and he concurrently tsks and coughs in knowing he’s currently blocked off from his planned route.

Seeking new openings, the Tempest glances around to the side windows, although doing so only reveals that the lanes in the distance from him are other enemy SUVs gradually gaining on him, and while they’re not exactly neighboring him they’re uncomfortably close to boxing him in.

Even more of the area being surrounded by hostiles, the matte pod still continues to drift into neighboring lanes to pass slower pods it comes across, capitalizing on the openings left between pods to enter through those spaces and then continue again to avoid letting its momentum stagger again.

Even when surrounded by the dense traffic with little wiggle room to maneuver, the matte pod manages to surpass its pursuers, accelerating faster than they can handle, and for a moment leap forward free again.

While navigating through the streets, the Tempest glances at the map on the windshield, noting his position.

Previously the chase had begun much deeper in the island, but now with the progression of the high speed chase the matte pod has reached closer to the island’s edge, its effect on the traffic infesting more casual civilians and potentially traumatizing them. But now the pod is approaching the edge where the path splits towards the multitude of other civilized clouds.

Still not quite yet at the end, the matte pod still is stuck sliding into lanes every few seconds, pressing on relentlessly despite the size of those it has to move around.

Up ahead is another herd of trucks, an entire field of them with not only ahead in the same lane but also others on the right side and above it. Another blockade but even worse than the previous, the matte pod is forced to subdue its untouchable speed in favor of avoiding collisions, and once again given no choice but to slow down to the truck’s speeds which still is quite great but in comparison to what the matte pod was reaching they move at a snail’s pace.

Suspended again, the Tempest takes a glance around to find that those SUVs whom he just pushed himself to pass have now returned to his side, but more so they’ve become closer, only one lane off from neighboring him.

He checks both sides to find them everywhere, eager to find an opening between the pickup trucks and other pods beside him so they could easily sandwich their target.

The Tempest next checks up at the clear roof to see the lane of pods still hovering over like a pack of vultures waiting to swoop in, for they have not left.

Again, he’s left to follow the same tactic as previously, going below again, as even though it’d require dropping down more lanes it was the only way to escape the situation.

That is until right below the matte pod, another SUV pulls up, closing off a drop as it matches the escapee’s pace to function as a moving floor.

Subjected to another series of coughs only further insulting him after the successful cornering, the Tempest swallows and glances at the rear view screen, only to find that not too far behind him accelerates the sporty black pod, without any obstacles between it and him.

Through the front windshield of the sporty pod, the old leader glares with a blazing determination, having chased the two crazed runaways across the city, but now finally having them in his sights.

Effectively boxed in, the Tempest glances to the sides again as the SUVs cling near the neighboring lanes, blocked.

Then he checks the ceiling again to find the vulturing pods, blocked.

Then he glances at the floor where the other vehicle is right below him, blocked.

Then he checks the rear view display to find the leader tailing him, blocked.

Then he checks ahead again where the wall of trucks are, neighboring each other which creates a firm barrier closing him off from escape, not having sped up or shifted relative to each other, rather still maintaining the tight seal of a lane’s space, slimmer than the pod.

Again he’s caught in a series of severe coughs, but this time he drives it into a raspier tone, from a bark to a growl, until he can close the gap in his mouth with the clenching of his teeth, overpowering the cough with the sheer tenacity alone, as the glint in his sharpening glare forces him into a state of concentration even against the cruel kickings the universe has given to him, and in the battle against it all, this world, his pursuers, even himself, one thought comes to mind, one suicidally senseless idea.

An idea, a horrible idea, an idea that could only be forged in the most harsh of heats, an idea that could only be conjured by a mind that truly was unhinged from the standard programming of humanity and nature itself.

At last, the pursuers from the sides slide into the lanes neighboring the matte pod, completing the box.

Inside the sporty pod behind, the old man’s glare tightens with the thought of victory already received in his mind, the future already written out.

Both of the neighboring pods slide towards the matte pod like the hands of a man trying to catch a mosquito, and right as they do the pod boosts forwards and rotates all the way to its side while veering off to the right, but rather than attempting to shift to the next lane it instead slips straight between the two large, toughly constructed trucks ahead–barriers which if collided into would result in only unspeakably horrific catastrophe–; driving between the two lanes completely rotated, it just barely manages to move between them with precisely enough room to be unobstructed.

As the two SUVs bump into each other, the matte pod thrusts to the extreme, and its engine bellows as it rockets down the dense traffic, past the horde of trucks.

With that last push, the matte pod soars straight through the edge of the island, out into the divergence, past the border.

Over the surface, where below are the dense clouds emitting from the bottom of the island, the matte black pod races out into the borderless sky, its matte finish shining in the cyan sunlight above, escaping the golden temple of towers.

Inside the pod, the Alchemist screams mixed with chuckles as his body presses against the window facing the ground, holding onto dear life while also enjoying the rush, and beside him the Tempest keeps his deterministic stare forward with a smirk, sitting perfectly upright.

Outside, the pod dives down and readjusts rotation, tilting back upright once more and preparing to slow down for reassimilation as it speeds off into one of the many branches.

All the way back in the dense traffic, inside the sporty lead pod the old man curses agitatedly, “Dammit no, what the hell did he just do??”

He then places his right hand over his ear and demands assertively, “Keep following them and give me an update of their position!”

A few seconds after the order however, he receives a response from one of the men, that being: “Uh…sir…we don’t see them…they’re out of sight.”

After taking in the report, the old man pauses for a few seconds, keeping his hand on his ear. His forehead wrinkles even more, and with a voice that could make his glare audible he inquires, “What?”

High up above the top lane, inside one of the SUV’s holding two of the uniformed men, one of the man studies a holographic screen projecting from the dashboard which provides a map with them in the center represented by a green triangle, with several rings around the map emitting from them similar to a radar, although on the bottom of the map there is a message which reads: ‘CURRENTLY TRACKING 0 ENTITIES.’

The other man reiterates with a nervous tone, “We were tracking them…and we saw them reach the interstate…and then they vanished. I don’t know, to be honest the vehicle doesn’t have many identifiable features, and I promise we put a tracker on them but it’s not showing up anymore…there’s a chance they have some sort of specter antivirus. Does anybody else have visuals or tracking?”

Inside the leader’s vehicle, the man silently waits for several seconds for a response, for at least one man to raise his voice with good news.

But after the prolonged silence, not one man voiced, not one announcement was declared. On the channel with every agent on the hunt, none of them could answer the question positively.

Visibly enraged, the leader’s teeth grit and he subtly growls. He then releases it all in one hefty huff through his teeth, and recomposes himself.

Resentfully the leader then announces over the channel, “Well, I’d ask all of you to search one of the roads, but I’d be damn surprised if they weren’t already multiple islands away. We’ll write up a report and send some EOPs to monitor any potential reappearances, but for now it seems we’ve failed, so good on us.”

He tsks and takes his hand off his ear to rub his lowered forehead before releasing a prolonged groan, very clearly displaying his content to his subordinates, for the conclusion of the mission was not what one could deem pleasant, not in the very least, for now the problem had escalated to one far greater, a virus infecting their world, collapsing their foundations all with one controversial conspiracy that had deprived millions of their trust in their main leader, a problem that has already caused him many sleepless nights and contracted him for an untold many more.

He wouldn’t even be given a break before the workload would pile up on him, as even at this very moment immediately upon learning of the escape, he had to start moving and working, acting swiftly to do his best in locating the virus and maintaining some level of stability in the faltering republic.

Reflecting on the hellish work cut out for him, he murmurs to himself while still rubbing his forehead, “Why did I ever agree to join him…I always knew this was a mistake and still here I am having to run after him and clean his messes…my granddaughter is more mature than this. Damn…and with what just happened there’ll definitely be reports…I need to get control over this situation or sooner or later I’ll have to deal with protests again. Well, guess I have no other choice but to go to him. Better call Paul.”