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Yeung-Sung stepped into his apartment. Scrolling through the Wick chat with one hand, he shut the door with his foot, sealing away the brightness of the hall. He tabbed over to Wilhelm.
He popped the last vending machine candy and tabbed back to the main chat.
He pictured the chaos that would ensue. That should keep them occupied. He scrambled through the detailed options of the chat looking for the mute function. His phone suppressed, he ignored the light switch and moved over to the hanging edge of the apartment. The red bulb of the streetlight, ever-present, had faded a little. He knelt down. Spidering his fingers along the length of the window, he searched for tiny seams that hid in cherry shade. Once found, he pried back a panel. It slid behind, the sound of it like the uncorking pop of a bottle of wine.
Freshness seeped through. It punctured Yeung-Sung, sweeping past layers of clothes; bandages; skin and bone. He drew a stoppered breath and rolled down his sleeves, pulling a calmness out from inside like knotted weeds. Cautiously, he inched towards the exposed gap and hung his legs out free. Only five stories of air beneath them. There was a sudden gust -in which he panicked, tensing and swinging his arms down behind him like weights so he wouldn’t fall away- but it died just as quickly, leaving only the droning hum of the streetlamps. Yeung-Sung rubbed his thumb around the [Enter the Gauntlet] button at the bottom of the home screen. It shone, its blue sheen sweeping across, clashing with the outside light, turning pink, then red.
Inside this little alcove, Yeung-Sung leaned forward. The gap was large enough for him to catch his forehead with the top of it, relax, and lean his chin out the window. He opened his mouth and tasted the frosted air on his tongue, then yelled, “Hey!” His voice echoed into estates far, far below. He imagine it carrying throughout the whole colony. As it soon will.
“Jordan! I’m coming for you!”, he said and held up his phone, pressing in the button with his free thumb. The glass exploded inward. Yeung-Sung entered the darkness beneath.
In hide-sewn shoes, his avatar pitter-pattered on the dirt. He twisted the helmet tight on his head. It’s full back concealed most of his aura. He rolled his shoulders, as his back was burdened with bag straps, his quiver overlapping them. Every muscle must have been tense and nervous, and the avatar stretched through each of them. As he warmed up, the bottles -in the satchel under his arm- rattled and rattled excitedly, like children on a school tour. Looks uncomfortable. Yeung-Sung breezed out a chuckle. He’s the most human looking character I’ve seen yet. Maybe I brought too much?
Swivelling the full battlegrounds into view, Yeung-Sung parsed through the ten enemies that stood in his way of revenge. The fight had not started and won’t, not until he makes his first move. He drew his first attack line -an arrowshot into the backline of their formation and muttered, “Here we go.”