The elf grabs his voicecaster, rune connecting with advisors above as he sends his body into motion. “Dispatch S.I.D. zero-two: ten-eighty-one, in pursuit.”

Leaping onto his feet Detective Ryce grabs a small steel vial from within his coat; the red paint across its base bridging an understanding between content and consumer. Cork ripped off, the sloshing clear liquids within spills out into open air.

Bitter, metallic and sweet; the taste of blood, herbal medicine, and strawberry providing just enough taste to be palatable for the half seconds of consumption.

An ice cold feeling snaking down his esophagus, the Detective easily bites down the familiar concoction as he feels the effects take hold.

Power beyond natural limitations, flesh consuming the power of an unseen world. The weave surges through blood vessels, the transfiguration of bodies between the fabrics of existence.

Unchanged from an external perspective, the human tosses the emptied vial away as he ceases breathing.

Officers in the perimeter move, a foot chase executed as they trail behind the already moving pursuit.

Easily surpassed by Detective Ryce.

Full dash, sprinting after his partner with supernatural stamina. A bloodstream automatically recycled through arcane air, muscles untiring in a temporary notion of woven constitution.

An absolute focus towards escape, the young boy pushes his own body to the limits. Insane speed cutting past Detective Tan’s own mannered pace, the elven form eclipsed as his partner sprints past him.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Sneaking through the watching crowd, the Detective falls behind slightly as he wordlessly shoves aside spectators. A halfling child thrown to the ground, a dwarven worker tossed aside,and a housewife shoved into a puddle; justice unending in its ceaseless pursuit.

Eyes track the suspect, the form ducking into a dark alleyway at full sprint.

Steel garbage cans in dirty alleyways tossed aside, barricades of disposed rotting food and papered trash sending a mind into overdrive. Trained reaction time doesn’t allow for the Detective to stop, Ryce leaping off one of the walls in a full-flip over one pile; the other crossed with a viscous long jump.

A six foot tall wooden wall haphazardly set up to divide street corners, the young suspect clambering over the top and flopping himself to the other side.

Detective Ryce doesn’t even break his sprint as he watches him disappear behind the wall, the human frame vaulting himself up on the lip of the obstacle and onto the cold stone below.

Crowded with workers, the factory lot is bustling with activity. Dirty overalls parting alongside horse drawn carriages of cargo, the young man’s clean schooling uniform sending a beacon of attention as eyes from all sides stare at the intrusion of his form.

A pursuer nowhere to be found.

A panicked breathing, the young man’s universe spinning as he attempts to take in his surroundings.

Faces mismatched, a vision blurring as blood pressure rises to critical levels.

Run.

A gate thirty feet away, freedom at the very limitations of mental capacity.

Full sprint, lungs burning as the route is calculated in overloading neurons. A speed pushed to the limitations of physiology, eyes burning red in the rage of inhibited mental states.

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.

The strike comes from the crowd, unseen and undetected. A solid cylinder of rolled steel, ridged and handled for acting violence cracks across the student’s face with a snap of the wrist.

Velocity compounding with musculature and mass, the club clotheslines the suspect onto the brick street.