The Shearing

Twelve

"Appeal to pity, thought you'd get away with your fallacies eh?" He snorts. "Don't fret, ain't planning to shoot anybody, but you're coming with m-" before he could complete his last line, my hands jerked up to wham the gun just in time when his fingers hit the trigger and a deafening shot follows, echoing throughout the place.

The gun lands a few good meters away from us, smoke still billowing from the earlier gunfire. Flinching from the shot that has narrowly missed my head, I struggle to ignore the searing pain in my ears; never mind if it bleeds. I quickly kick my foot up, and it crashes into his crotch, causing him to bend down with a grunt, which gives me enough time to hit him square on the face with my patella.

With a loud angry grunt, the man thrashes in pain and topples backwards. That should buy me time. By the mention of appeal to pity and fallacy, I know he's a cognate-intel, which makes me stronger than he is. I sprint away and kick the gun farther, ignoring the questioning look the people shoot at me as I barrel down the street and sink into their ranks. The acrid smell of lubricant mixed with sweat and booze hangs thickly. Even as I struggle to breathe only through my mouth, my throat burns with the air I inhale.

As I dash deeper into the crowd and into the busy streets, I manage to slow myself down a bit. My heart screaming in frantic beats, and my face dappled with trails of sweat. I untie my ponytail and flip back a heft of my locks, then I continue to jog onwards, warily scanning the shacks and small buildings flanked at either sides, looking for an alley that would lead me to the eastern section.

As I pass by makeshift houses and tents, I get a clearer glimpse of the poverty that has wrapped into this realm. Scrawny children smeared with grease lie muted along the curb; people clad in threadbare carry tons of metalware be it rusting, blackened, or new, and I even see some of them dragging an engine-like thing, leaving a grease line on its wake along the littered road. I couldn't start thinking of their health considering the kind of atmosphere they have here; it's like having no choice but to spend the rest of their days on a torture chamber, just so they could spare themselves from the inhumane bloodshed that has reigned the cities above.

As adrenaline ceases, pain starts to erupt along my muscles; noise fills the air as I jog past the commoners and decide to stop by a lit lamppost to cope up with my racing breath. I have no idea how far I've ran. Glancing behind, the apartment is nowhere to be seen already, and that gives me the comforting thought that I've reached a good distance away from my harriers. I have no means of communication with Farhan, but whatever is she doing now, I know she'd be perfectly fine.

Oliver suddenly taps my mind, how would I talk to him about everything I have just found out earlier? I've been brimmed with a lot of questions, and I demand answers. My train of thoughts takes an abrupt halt as the screaming of a woman booms far atop me along the ropes that connect the walls. Another wanted. Then my hands quiver against the lamppost as reverberation crawls on its steel surface.

A sound reaches my ears. Somewhere from the western part of the place comes a piercing mechanical cry of what seems to sound like an engine; a loud crescendo that quickly sends everyone into a crouching position. Even with my hands clamped against my ears, the sound is clear and stark. Test Drive. Shortly as the sound fades, people begin to right themselves up and carry on with their agendas.

And just as I am about to jog back further north, the loud bickering coming far behind me catches my attention.

As I spin around, a woman is being dragged along the pavement by a couple of men clad in black leather suits; flavescent lines circled the end of their sleeves, and at the back of their suite is a circular symbol with its center composed of gold rectangles and squares forming the shape of letter "m". It takes no more than a split second for me to realize who these people are. The woman seems to be confused and frightened at the same time, but I dare not tarry for long, otherwise I'd surely be caught as well. The scrawny man from earlier flashes back in my mind; surely there's something that makes him think I'm a morale, and whatever it is, I've got no idea, and certainly whatever it is, these men would no doubt spot it with ease.