Prazen stalks a tigerlike circle. Blades are drawn and hands raised as Ajax and I respond in kind, instinctively shifting shoulder to shoulder. Our last encounter, still too fresh of a memory. Prazen’s laconic display of nonchalance only adds to the danger rising in the air. His hands swing loose by his belt. A killer’s hunger in those segmented fingers.

“I didn’t believe Vex when he told me at first, that the Champion had found a new pair of lapdogs to carry out his dirty work.” Prazen’s joints crack like organics as they stretch. “Even an idiot could see Fang would never send you two in his place. You’re everything he isn’t. Yipping for a shred of attention from a man who won’t give a damn when I kill you.”

Rain cracks and sizzles when it hits my skin, slipping through lingering holes in the repulsorfield. I let the threat linger as I growl,

“You’re wrong.”

Prazen snorts. “As if you’d know.”

“The Champion might not care, but there’s plenty of other people who will. I couldn’t give a damn if he wants to sit on his hands. This isn’t just his city. We can fight for it, too. Just because he makes the rules doesn’t make him right.” My fingers clench tight. “Something I’m sure you can understand.”

Ajax’s golden braid shifts as he glances fractionally in my direction, trying not to give away his confusion. He doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Neither does Jolie, listening through the comm. Executor Tanis’ last words in the Orange were meant for my ears alone. There’s only one other person on this platform who knows exactly what angle I’m playing at, and he’s watching me like a full-metal gargoyle.

“We’re both here even if it’s not what the old man wants. Only difference is why. And that one of us is a murderer, and one of us isn’t,” I say. “You were his last and only apprentice, Carra Fang. And you were supposed to have been locked away for life four years ago.” One snap of my fingers primes a blast’s worth of ki between them. “We can fix that now, if you want.”

A deadly pause stretches between us. Rather than break it, Prazen slowly unfurls his hood and helmet. Flashes of dismal light from the distant cityscape reveal the grim countenance and piercing features of the shockingly youthful face behind the mechanical mask. The last missing piece of Vex’s operation: a boy of black hair and captivating golden eyes riven with cracks of magmatic color. Up close, he’s more beautiful than he is handsome. Dangerous lips and sharp, razorblade cheekbones.Younger than me, no older than a university first-year, yet no less lethal for it.

Disinterested disgust darkens his brow.

“Carra Fang.” Prazen chews on the name like raw meat before spitting it across the deck. “The old man wouldn’t have told you. He’s too vain to admit a mistake. Tanis, then. Shame she didn’t tell you the whole story. If she had, you’d know there’s no one coming to save you this time.” His eyes dull over in boredom. “The old man’s a man of peace now, haven’t you heard? He wouldn’t move when his city burned. He won’t be moving for a ragdoll like you.”

“Bold to assume that we need him at all,” Ajax snaps, tightening formation. His ragged breathing falls in a half-step behind my shoulders, wordlessly preparing me to take the brunt of the incoming assault. “You’re in our way.”

“Am I?” Prazen finally quits his circling, putting our backs to the front of the train. His helmet stays down, black hair whipping in the tempest. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I doubt your employer would approve if we simply strolled right up to his front door.”

“Oh, Vex knew what he was getting into the moment he cut me a check. Money means nothing to anyone who matters.” Prazen points at the Metro Blockhouse’s distant skylights. “Strength is the only currency that matters in a gladiocracy. Credits are ashes in the wind. I don’t care about them, or Vex, or his projects, or any amount of ones and zeroes in a bank account.” His shoulders roll, those draconic eyes shifting muddily between Ajax and I. Gauging which is the stronger. They drift back to Ajax. “I’m here for a fight, and one of you is going to give it to me. The other can run ahead and get what you came for. Be my guest.”

I’m already stepping forward, pushing at the limits of my remaining stamina. But it’s a short-lived burn; a false summit. I’m draining the dregs of my strength to keep moving in my injured state. I’ve been putting out combat levels of aura since the moment we reached the train. Every exertion I’ve made has added to the toll I now feel. Dizziness from blood loss clouds my mind. There’s no telling how much longer I can keep going like this.

Without ki to prop his body up, Ajax must be feeling the same exhaustion I am at a level I can’t even imagine. That he’s even standing is a miracle. He has little enough strength as it is. I know just from the labored sounds of his breathing that I can’t count on him here. Yet he steps forward to join me side-by-side with eyes set and jaw tense all the same, rising to Prazen’s challenge.

“I’ll do it,” I tell him. “You go ahead. Get Bishop.”

He shakes his head before choking back a fit of bloody, battered coughing. “You won’t beat him alone. We’re in this together.”

All the confidence in the world can’t dampen the worry that slithers through my gut when I look upon Prazen. Two sixtieths of a second have separated me from Ajax in countless battles. How many divide me from a fighter who was once apprenticed to the Champion himself?

Prazen’s head tilts fractionally towards the gap between Ajax and I. Dissecting our skillsets. Lining up. Choosing. Which of us is more wounded? Ajax, but it makes little difference. Exhaustion compounded with scores of minor differences puts both of us at a fraction of the readiness we had when we encountered him for the first time. He knows we’re easy pickings. I’m only marginally more of a threat because I haven’t burned out yet.

Last year’s, last month’s Mars would have thrown the first punch here without a second thought. Thank Jolie and Ajax that my aggression has tempered enough to realize Prazen is going to kill us both for the second time. Ajax and I would rise to his challenge and throw ourselves at him because we have no other choice, and even if we did, it’s not in our genetics to take it. We’d die for that bravery no matter how well we fight. Even with our practice fighting in sync, the situation is horrible.

I have to change the game. There’s no path to victory through Prazen, not here. I’m not about to throw away the lives of my friends to sate my idiotic streak. Instead, I reach up and tap the comm unit curled around my ear, finally letting my sister’s static-filled voice intrude into my combat-narrowed focus.

“Mars, I can’t keep up any more! We’re running out of highway!”

All three of us on the open platform glance towards the front of the train when the deck begins reverberating with new intensity. I risk a look at the countdown in the corner of my vision. No time left. The renewed storm blasts across the platform as the deck tilts, banking into the turn that will carry the maglev out of the capital for good. In the distance, two sets of aerial lights rise out a distant warehouse in the industrial district, ripping out of the capital’s airspace on a direct interception course.

“Get your ass back here now. They’ve got gunships inbound. We’re out of time!”

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I run the math on the inbound transports. Stretch my kinetic sense in search of a familiar, rebellious spark of life energy sprinting back our way from further ahead in the train. We’ve got seconds, if that. “On it, sis.”

The last vestiges of the capital flash past us at suicidal velocity. Our countdown clock dips into the negative. Nodding to Ajax, I kickstart my body by going into an all-out vent, washing out my exhaustion with a dwindling storm of sheer aura. Terminal wind stretches the flames in a ten-foot high column of sparks. I force it to twenty with a shudder and answer Prazen’s first closing step with one of my own.

His cold, human voice scrapes against my ears like a blade’s flat against naked ice. “You won’t run.”

A haughty, victorious laugh answers him as a familiar sight of gunslinging confidence tumbles off the next roof ahead, dropping right into my arms with a grunt of effort and a body-sized duffle bag draped over one shoulder. Mori flashes me a wink. I turn it into a two-fingered salute that I casually toss to Prazen.

“I don’t run, but I do learn.” I can’t stop the smirk that crosses my face. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back for a round three.”

Then Ajax melts the shipping containers blocking our view of the highway, I grab his arm, the world jerks from frame to frame in a burst of ki-propelled movement, and my eyes meet Prazen’s through a curtain of blinding rain as the mechanical assassin and half-destroyed train disappear behind a wall of industrial architecture, racing for the villages while we tear back towards the capital. He’s gone in a blink.

Ajax, Mori and I slam into the autobikes in a tightbound cluster of three and almost die then and there when our combined momentum sends us ricocheting away from each other. Somehow Jolie swerves the bikes to catch us all. Mori takes the controls of the second bike and guns the throttle to follow my sister down a curving highway away from the industrial sector at deafening speed. I slide in behind her with Bishop’s unconscious body, lashing it to the side of the bike with hands shaking from adrenaline. Ajax sink onto the other bike behind Jolie. Spotlights and shadows run over us in photographic flashes. We share a mutual look of relief before slumping against the girls and hanging on for dear life.

Jolie’s eyes search the sky for any pursuers before suddenly widening. She risks a moment’s glance down at Ajax. “Ajax, is that blood running down my back!?”

He lets out a triumphant chuckle. “Yes! Yes it is, Jolie Mons, and I couldn’t feel better about it.”

“Feel better? Are you crazy!? You’re bleeding out!”

“I’m alive is what I am! We did it!” He hurls a wordless yell of victory at the storm and city so passionately I can’t help but join in. Mori’s back reverberates against my chest as she adds to the chorus.

“You’re drunk on adrenaline,” Jolie growls, returning her attention to the front. The highway continues to curl back towards the overcity. Divisions between lanes smear into nonexistence beneath the downpour. We’re alone in the storm for a precious moment of adrenaline-induced exhilaration. Our speed only continues to increase. Mere seconds carry us from the industrial sector into the raised glass highway that flies over the main thoroughfare of one of the capital’s most upscale districts.

I squeeze Mori’s leg to get her attention. “How the hell did you get to Bishop?”

“Easily,” she smirks. “But I couldn’t find Vex. Your sis told me I had to haul ass and get out of there with what I could before Prazen killed you again.”

“No one was guarding Bishop?”

“A few mooks. Not the corpo bastard, though. Wait. Hold on a sec.” The muscles of her back bunch together. Another click goes through the comm as she switches to our open channel. “Jojo, you seeing what I am?”

“You’re going to have to be a bit clearer than that.”

A chill shoots down my spine as I pick up on the object of her concern. I banish my exhaustion once more by reigniting my ki, ignoring the creaking protest my body gives as the weight of ten day’s worth of physical exertion tears out of it in a single breath. Tap into the comm while Mori revs the engine beneath us.

“Highway’s opened up, just like the trains did. SHI cleared the roads. Something’s coming. Fast.”

“Shit.” Jolie jerks her bike to the side and darts ahead of us, racing her own reflection down the nearest exit. Sparks scatter over my feet as Mori matches the motion without slowing. A completely empty slice of five-lane highway banks us down into the mouth of a wide, arched tunnel at two hundred miles an hour. We lean low together to reduce drag. The city itself takes in a breath as the rain fades for a moment of unreal silence.

The only sounds that follow us are straining engines and smooth ceramic wheels. Yellow neon illuminates glass floors and steel supports on either side in a uniform shade of golden light. We flash beneath a hundred arches in the first second. By the third, we can already see the tunnel’s storm-slicked mouth waiting around the next bend. Dazzling neon cityscape gleams through the downpour. The Electric Town can’t be far. Not even a Shimano would start a firefight in the middle of the city.

Renewed rain slaps across my shoulders like icy bullets as we break back out into the storm at terminal velocity. The autobike engines give their last gasps of overtaxed strength to push the world into a hyperdrive blur. Our rear wheel skitters to the side for a single frame. Mori’s body tenses when she sucks in a breath and holds it. Gunslinging instincts keep us from turning into smears on the glass. Stability returns.

She lets out the breath a moment too soon.

Blinding white brilliance erupts in a wide circle around us as a searchlight beams down across our backs. Crimson and orange hair whips through my vision as I search the sky for a blocky silhouette behind the beam. Its wing-mounted jets shriek like unspooling ki, drawing my attention straight to it. One of the gunships chased us down from the train. Slid-open doors along its length open an unrestricted view of the highway to a full complement of crowd-control weapon emplacements and mercenaries taking aim.

And they’re not alone. Five more signatures weave through my kinetic sense between highway lights, appearing only in brief glimpses of gleaming black and Shimano grey atop autobikes that close on us like a flash flood. My eyes narrow as I whirl to face them. My injuries fade. Righteous fury rises in my heart.

Another segment of highway disappears. My boots find their footing on the back of the bike. The others start shouting and screaming for me to stop. Fearing I’m going to go it alone, trigger another heart attack exertion. But it’s the furthest thing from my mind. I don’t need to go beyond my limits. I’m already surrounded by everything I need to win.

Wreathed by calm white and haloed in bloody red, I rise. The Shimano mercenaries don’t even see me in the night. They only see flames silhouetting me, stripped into a comet streak by our velocity. One light burning against the dark. Weapons raise. I breathe in. Flip from the bike. Breathe out. And collide.

My reflection flashes across the Shimano riders’ faceplates the instant before impact. My shoulder shunts the first man from solid to liquid phase. I touch down on his bike for a single frame before bursting to the next and folding its rider around a side kick like a lawn chair.

Discord hits the rest of the riders in a staggered wave. One peels away to buy distance, taking aim with a wrist-mounted net launcher. Another goes down to a buzzsaw stream of bullets fired from the gunship when it targets me half a second too late. By the time they readjust, I’m already through the fourth bike and trading blows with the fifth. It’s over before the next streetlamp.

Jet engines whine as the gunship dips low to join the fray, wiping the fifth bike from existence with a hose of bullets as it does. One final exertion of ki through my legs launches me through its wide-open doors into a cargo bay lined with handholds and scrambling mercenaries. Another thump shocks the deck as a second pair of boots lands behind me.

My arrival incites the primal fear every villain feels when they come face to face with the consequence of their actions. Ajax’s drops jaws. His bloodied shoulders slam against mine, breaths rattling against my own.

There’s not a soul in the city who wouldn’t recognize the martial weapons of its most famous sons; one pair of taped up fists and a straight-edged blade. We move in unison. Together we dare every one of the ten fighters left in the hold to make the first move. Together we carve an impossible path out. Together we lunge into the cockpit, claw our way to freedom, and send the gunship burning towards the city’s artificial lake. Together we smash out the frontal viewport, and in harmony we fall back to the bikes as we dive into the Electric Town on adrenaline wings, howling like the children we are at the corporation that ever thought it could stop us.

Mori jumps to stand on the handlebars as we soar past the Shimano skyscraper and its fishhook logo, both middle fingers raised in challenge.

“Fuck you, Shimano!” she whoops, cupping her hands together. “We’re coming for you next!”