(2 hours, 00 minutes until impact)

  The city streets were chaos. Sirens wailed above the roar of wind and crashing debris. Trees bent under violent gusts, branches snapping and scattering through the air. Thunder cracked overhead, splitting the sky into jagged flashes of white.

  Lior ran at the front, hoodie flapping wildly in the gale as he burst into a neighborhood swallowed by panic.

  Civilians surged in every direction, screams cutting through the storm’s howl. His chest heaved, but he raised his arms high, forcing his voice above the noise.

  “Move! Get to the bunker!” Lior shouted, desperation cracking his tone. “It’s coming—go!”

  Ayasha pushed through the crowd, her hair whipping in the wind. She spotted an elderly woman slumped on a shattered bench, too weak to rise.

  Without hesitation, Ayasha bent low, slipped her arms around the frail figure, and lifted her with surprising strength.

  “Follow the lighted signs!” she urged, pointing toward the glowing emergency beacons lining the street. Her voice was steady—like a lifeline cutting through the storm.

  “Go now!”

  A few feet away, Cael knelt at the base of a flickering digital billboard. His fingers moved with frantic precision through exposed wires. Sparks jumped; the screen blinked erratically before stabilizing.

  “Redirecting evacuation paths…” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Come on—reroute…”

  The sign flickered, then flashed alive—arrows realigning to guide civilians toward safer corridors.

  Even in the madness, the three moved like parts of a single body—

  Lior pushing, Ayasha lifting, Cael guiding.

  Three teens trying to wrestle order from chaos.

  ?

  (1 hour, 15 minutes until impact)

  The wind howled through narrow alleyways, scattering trash and bending fire escapes like brittle bones.

  Lior slowed as he rounded a corner, heart thundering. The sight stopped him cold.

  Pistol.

  The boy stood in front of two children and an elderly woman, arms spread wide, shielding them as three Potestas agents advanced. The kids clung to the woman’s torn coat, eyes wide with terror.

  “Go!” Pistol barked, voice rough.

  He shoved the woman toward the glowing evacuation sign. “Run! Don’t stop—get to the bunker!”

  An agent slammed him against the wall.

  “Where is the kid you were fighting in the alley?!”

  Pistol spat blood across the soldier’s uniform.

  “You guys can go to hell.”

  THUD!

  Another fist crashed into his gut.

  “Where are you hiding him?!”

  Pistol doubled over, gasping, but stayed between them and the civilians.

  “You think I care about him?” His mouth curled into a smirk, even through the pain. “We ain’t friends.”

  The third agent lifted a baton, mask glinting in the stormlight.

  “Then give him up.”

  Pistol laughed—defiance raw and cracked.

  “Still wouldn’t give you a damn thing.”

  The baton rose higher—ready to strike—

  From behind a crumbled wall, Lior’s jaw tightened.

  He’s protecting them…

  Something broke open inside him.

  He moved before his mind caught up—feet pounding against slick stone.

  The baton came down—

  —but Pistol felt nothing.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  When his eyes opened, Lior was there—shoulder slamming into the soldier mid-swing, sending him sprawling.

  The second soldier raised a taser—

  wires shot out, hissing blue lightning straight toward Lior.

  Slipstream roared awake.

  Rain froze mid-fall, caught in suspended shimmer. The taser’s arc dragged through the air—too slow to touch him now.

  Lior twisted, shoulder grazing the shot. The wires sailed past, embedding into the third agent’s chest.

  BZZT!

  Sparks erupted, painting the alley in strobe-blue. The man convulsed and dropped instantly.

  The shooter cursed, ripping the taser back, stepping forward—

  CRACK!

  A pipe slammed across his face. He collapsed in the water, mask splitting.

  Pistol stood over him, arm trembling, blood dripping from his lip.

  He laughed weakly. “Had ’em right where I wanted ’em.”

  Lior caught his arm, steadying him. “Yeah, yeah… I could tell.”

  Pistol winced, still smirking. “Doesn’t mean I was gonna let them touch those kids.”

  Lior managed a faint grin as they stumbled down the alley together.

  ?

  (55 minutes until impact)

  The storm funneled through the streets, tearing tarps from stalls and rattling loose signs until they clanged like war drums.

  Lior and Pistol staggered forward through the rain—half-running, half-falling toward the bunker lights ahead.

  Then—

  “Found him!”

  Six Potestas soldiers spilled into the street, black armor gleaming wet beneath the stormlight. Rifles raised. Eyes locked.

  Lior shifted Pistol’s weight off his shoulder, lowering him gently. His fists clenched—body trembling, ready to charge—

  —but pain ripped through his chest.

  White-hot. Paralyzing.

  He dropped to his knees with a splash, the sound ringing like shattered glass. The world tilted, lightning streaking sideways across his vision.

  “Damn it… not now…”

  A boot slammed into his face.

  THWAK!

  Lior’s head snapped sideways, blood mixing with rain.

  He staggered up—only for another soldier to drive a fist into his stomach.

  WHUMP!

  Air tore out of him.

  A third grabbed his collar and hurled him down—

  THUD!

  Lior’s body hit the street hard. Rain pounded against his neck.

  A shadow loomed overhead—boot lifted, ready to crush—

  Pistol moved first.

  He rose slow, half-broken, and caught the stomper’s ankle. His punch hammered into the soldier’s ribs.

  KRMP!

  The man staggered back, winded—

  —then CRACK!

  A baton whipped across Pistol’s face, dropping him sideways into the flood.

  The soldiers turned toward Lior.

  Pistol spat blood, eyes unfocused, pushing up again.

  “Hey… this isn’t over…” His voice slurred, grin splitting through red. “I’m gonna beat the breaks off all you punks.”

  Two helmets snapped toward him.

  Lior shoved up, wobbling, and tackled one down. They crashed into the water, skidding until both ended up beside Pistol.

  He stood again—barely.

  The nearest soldier swung his rifle across Lior’s ribs.

  WHUD!

  Another kicked his shoulder.

  THUMP!

  A baton cracked across his face.

  CRACK!

  Blood sprayed into the floodwater.

  He rose—gasping—then another blow to the gut—

  THUD!

  The barrage came relentless, merciless—a blur of fists, metal, and water.

  Finally, one caught him clean across the jaw—

  SMACK!

  Lior dropped to his knees, then his palms, coughing hard as blood and rain pooled together.

  A soldier stepped forward, rifle raised high to crush him—

  —but Pistol moved again.

  He spun in front of Lior, taking the hit across his back.

  THUM!!

  The echo rolled like thunder.

  He didn’t fall.

  Straightening slow, head bowed, his entire body trembled.

  When he looked up, his eyes were swollen—but burning.

  “You all hit like wimps,” he rasped, voice thick, almost laughing through blood.

  The leader stepped forward, voice cutting cold.

  “Stand back. Headquarters said eliminate anyone who interferes.”

  Pistol spat, blood streaking the rain. His voice rose—defiant, raw.

  “Well…” He smiled, teeth red. “I guess you’ll have to make that happen then.”

  The leader’s expression twisted beneath his visor.

  “Then so be it.”

  He leveled his rifle. Finger tightening—

  Lior tried to move, but his body refused. Vision swam.

  The storm drowned everything in sound.

  The muzzle flash lit the alley white.

  RATATATATAT!

  ?

  (50 minutes until impact)

  End of Chapter 10

  In the blur of thunder and rain, no one knows who fell — only that the storm swallowed the sound.

  For Pistol, redemption came too late or right on time.

  Either way… the next flash won’t wait.

  (50 minutes until impact.)

  End of Chapter 19