Runt hung quietly from the I-beam, trying not to pant as his lungs burned and the police below him listened.

Through the vent, he could see the tasers already out and shouldered.

He shivered.

His last easy exit was definitely cut off.

Runt carefully released with his right hand, and moved it forward, inching along the I-beam towards another vent. One that led to a darkened room.

And maybe some sanctuary while he plotted a new course to freedom. To life.

He silently edged over to the vent, and pulled the cover off quietly.

Runt dropped into onto the floor in the dark room. His pupils widened, the darkness brightening slightly. Enough for him to see.

Shelves of boxes and bags lined the room, and nothing much besides shelves and boxes greeted him. A heavy, locked door was at his back, and that meant safety was around him.

At least, for a moment.

His mind started to race as he looked around, wondering what he could find in the boxes. Evidence could include a thousand things, from guns to bullet-proof vests to...

His heartbeat slowed, relief pumping through his chest.

A familiar shape stuck out to him in the dim light.

His armor.

Runt lunged for it, ripping off the evidence tag and starting to slide his limbs into the gauntlets and greaves, while his fingers caressed the chest plate.

The armor was shock proof. Almost totally. Even a Taser wouldn't get to him.

Runt clicked on the helmet.

A moment later, the heads up display came online, the cheerful computerized voice greeting him.

Hello, Runt. Welcome to your suit.

"Computer get me out of here." Runt choked.

A half-second scan on the room initiated, followed by a cheery reply.

Exit routes calculated. Would you prefer discretion, or direct?

"Discreet." He said.

Without a word, his heads up display lit up the door with a glowing outline. It was going to lead him as far as it could.

Runt felt his muscles quiver, hope and tears rising as he realized there was a chance, just a slim chance that he might just make it out alive.

The door clicked open, revealing what Runt remembered of the inside of the station. Cavernous halls lines with pipes and strung with wires, old, greenish LED lights flickering behind their protective cages. The dingy concrete floor didn't betray the echo of boots, letting Runt know he was clear to proceed.

And proceed he did, snaking his way through halls and caverns, sneaking between service corridors and deflating himself to fit between pipes.

He kept moving, silent and shaking, until his suit's heads-up blinked, highlighting a final objective, then went out.

He was back on his own.

But he was close.

The final objective, a door down a hall. And next to the door, the universal symbol for stairs. A way out.

Runt's heart soared, his instincts jumping into gear as he glanced over his shoulder and made a dash.

But he didn't make it far.

Voices, amplified by his suit, locked his muscles and made his stomach crawl into the back of his throat. Runt skidded to a noiseless halt and frantically looked back and forth, diving into a service corridor the moment he recognized the hiding place.

Pipes and wires greeted him, and he welcomed anything that broke up his silhouette. He started to climb, the pipes held up silently as Runt hauled himself towards the ceiling, clinging to the shadows of the service corridor while his suit amplified the sounds of weapons loading and armor snapping into place.

And, of course, the sound of voices continued, forming into a conversation.

"Should we bring the launchers?"

"Yeah, it's getting bad up there. Bring the type two ammo too. The rioters brought gas masks."

"Did they bring weapons?"

"Of course. Double-check that armor."

Runt felt a deathly cold chill run through his body as adrenaline hit his blood.

Riots.

The thought made him sick, tightening his stomach as he tried not to let himself remember the violence he'd seen and felt at other riots. And this... this wasn't a normal riot.

Runt pressed himself closer to the wall as he heard boots clunk past his hiding place. He glanced back to see the police toting guns and heavy armor.

This was a serious riot. Serious enough to threaten a fortified police station.

The sound of footsteps closed in.

Runt held his breath, closing his eyes and trying not to shake as he listened to more boot clunking by just an arm's reach away.

His heart was ready to burst by the time the footsteps faded out of hearing range.

Runt released his death grip on silence, panting and letting out a few whimpers, even though he knew his suit was silencing it all. He slid down the pipes with a slight hiss of armor against metal and fell to the floor. He sat on his knees, shaking, his body hollow, his soul blighted, but his hopes still flickering among the embers.

He panted, looking at the floor through tears and visor. He'd made it this far. He'd survived what New Medina had thrown at him.

He had Quix to help once more. She still needed him. Obsidian needed him. The system needed him.

And this city couldn't have him.

Runt sniffed, a chill running down his spine as he pushed himself up and forced his courage to rise.

It was this, or freedom. No in-between.

And he knew what he was going to choose.

Runt peeked around the corner and glance back and forth. Nothing caught his eye in the dim caverns. It was just an empty, pipe-embroidered hall. One with a door at the end. Silent as a breath, Runt crept out of the service corridor and into the hall, his suit tightening around him to keep him from shaking as he scampered down the hall tossing furtive glances back all the way.

He arrived at the door, pulled it open, then slipped inside.

Runt quietly shut the door behind him, glancing over his shoulder twice as his heart strained to keep up with the ravages of the stress in his body. He looked around inside the stairwell, taking in his new environment.

The sign next to the door read B5.

He swallowed, looking up the stairs.

He was trapped, far underground, and during a riot. He wasn't sure he could imagine it being any worse.

But there was still a chance.

Because if he could get outside, there was nothing they could do to stop him.

~

Quixxa squinted behind her sandstorm goggles, rage throbbing in her veins like war drums. Her bandana over her face and the MLA armband on her right bicep, she fit right into the rabid, foaming mass of mindless demons chanting and working themselves into a frenzy. The riot lines wouldn't hold and she knew it.

New Medina had supported terror for too long.

And they were about to pay for it.

Quixxa tightened her grip on her gun.

She wasn't there for revenge, or for blood though. She was there for Runt.

And if she had to let a mob burn this world to the ground to get him back, she would. Once they breeched, it was only a matter of time before they gained entry to the building.

It was only a matter of time before she could find Runt.

She might not have wanted to be in the crowd.

She might not have wanted to associate with these people.

But if it was her only option, she would.

A burning car to Quixxa's right caught her attention. She needed a vantage point.

Quixxa elbowed a few human out of the way, their sweat sticking to her and making the stinging sand cling. She stepped up on the car, forcing one or two others off to make room for her as she inhaled the smoke and sand.

The riot was deep and wide.

At the head of it, clashes boiled. Knots of police and rioters brawled as both sides sent reinforcements. In the background, the police waited with their lethal weapons.

And in the crowd, she knew an even more lethal weapon waited.

Evil.

The police were better armed, equipped, and trained.

She knew that.

So did the mob.

But the mob didn't care. They wanted blood. She could smell the rage in the air, the same sort of rage that burned in her heart. The mob, raging against the police who had dared to stand in the way of their revolution. The police raging against the mob who dared to challenge their death-grip on power.

Both sides equally wrong. Both just pawns of the MLA.

And both stood between her and Runt.

Quixxa grit her teeth and adjusted her hold on her gun.

Every minute she was out here, and Runt was in there was another minute that he could be in danger.

She looked at the building. There had to be a way in...

Her mind jumped to the easy places. Windows, ways to get atop the roof, balconies...

She silently cursed at each. The roof held guards, the windows were safety glass, and the balconies were either on fire or guarded.

Quixxa ground her teeth, looking back at the mob to see if anything creative sprung to mind.

And a human stood out to her. She wasn't sure why. But one of the rioters was making a bee-line for the overturned vehicle, clutching a bag.

She cocked her head and watched, observing as he dodged and ducked his way through the crowd and to the vehicle. He plopped down in the cover it provided, and started to open the bag.

Quixxa looked back and down at the human. He had his back pressed against the overturned vehicle, clenching a bag in one fist as he dug inside with the other. She watched, and recognized something inside the bag immediately. Grenades.

She whipped around, and looked at the knots of fighting.

Something tugged at her. They were all animals... attacking each other mindlessly, beating anything that moved, screaming into the wind as they unleashed their hate.

But they, like her, were people...

Maybe a few of them had Runts of their own to protect and go home to.

Grenades wouldn't take that into consideration.

That, and they'd make a very good last resort.

Quixxa dropped down off her perch and landed beside the human.

"Give me the grenades." She said flatly, showing him her gun.

The human stopped fumbling inside his bag and looked up at her slowly, his eyes filled with fear and hate.

"Give them." She said, holding out her empty hand.

The human stood up suddenly and lunged at her.

Quixxa was faster. Much faster. She raised her knee and slammed it into his crotch, taking a step back and punching him in the gut.

He doubled over.

"Give me that." Quixxa hissed, ripping the bag from his hands and hitting him again.

The human shouted and fell, unheard over the roar of the crowd and the storm.

Quixxa gripped the bag, ideas running rampant in her mind, her fury unabated and her drive only peaking. She whipped around, shouldering her way through the crowd and towards the building. The police had abandoned most of the building's front, only concentrating on the entrances as they defended their bastion.

Quix, however, had other ideas.

She looked in the bag.

The grenades were there. Good old fashion fragmentation grenades, pins straightened and all.

She looked back at the building.

And right at a safety glass window. It was too high for humans to reach, and it was reinforced against gunshots. But explosives...

Explosives would get her in.

Quixxa approached the building, walking beside a half-demolished section of chain link fence. She checked over her shoulder as she made her way out of the thick of the mob.

A small pack of humans was following her, intentions unknown.

Quix raised a lip in a snarl, raising her gun.

"Stay back!" She shouted, backpedaling towards the window.

The group hesitated only for a moment before some of them resumed their advance, weapons coming into plain view.

Quix felt herself shiver as she glanced behind her quickly. She was close enough.

Quixxa pointed her gun at the handful trying to follow her again.

"Get Back!" She shouted, putting both hands on her gun.

The handful of humans took a collective step back as Quix reached behind her and found the glass bottle she'd stuck in the side pouch.

"Back!" She shouted again.

The crowd boiled before her, watching in fury as she pulled out the bottle and wrapped her tail around it. A lighter came out of her pack next, and after a few flicks, she managed to ignite the rag.

The mob tried coming again, hoping that she was preoccupied with the cocktail.

She instantly shifted her focus, leveling her handgun at one of the humans and pulling back the hammer as she took the bottle from her tail and dropped the lighter.

Quixxa hurled the bottle at the ground a few feet away from her and backpedaled immediately. A bloom of fire spread across the pavement as she cut off their approach to her. She smirked, feeling a bloom of rage find it's outlet in the sound of shattering glass and the crashing wave of heat from the flames.

But she didn't have time to indulge her darker nature.

She was there to preserve the only hope for her better self.

Quix turned back around, stalking down the length of chain-link fence to the edge of the building. She didn't have to look back. She only looked at the window, inviting her in.

She got close enough and made a short jump to the top of the chain link fence. It rattled violently as she twisted and pulled a grenade out of the bag. She dropped the rest, and jumped.

Quix collided with the brick and bent in half, slapping her tail against the building to keep herself in the window as she kicked with her feet to make sure she didn't lose her place.

Eat this, MLA. She thought, jerking the pin out of the grenade with two fingers. She dropped the pin, dropped the grenade, and let go.

Ping.

The handle flew over her head as she fell.

Quixxa hit the ground and ducked, cupping her hands over her ears.

A crack sounded above, the explosion making her flinch as the sharp report of the grenade stung her ears and made her chest rumble. A half second later, debris pelted her from above, showering her with glass and brick debris.

She didn't hesitated more than a few seconds before she stood up and shook herself off.

Please let that be enough... She thought, tightening the straps on her backpack one final time.

She glanced to her left, peering through the brownish haze towards the police. They hadn't noticed her in particular yet.

She swallowed, looked up, and jumped.

The bricks rocketed by as she kicked once or twice, the pads of her feet gripping the side of the building and propelling her upwards until she could latch onto the window ledge. She grabbed hard, her claws skipping off the brick and making her shiver as they ground against glass dust and powdered brick. She hauled herself up, and looked.

The window was gone. Completely blown into the building.

Yes.

Quix lunged up, throwing herself through the window like a javelin. She cleared the edged of sharp brick and glass, and landed inside in a three point crouch. Within a heartbeat, she had her gun out and was sighting down it, turning in a full circle to cover herself in need be.

The window had led to a corner office, an open path leading to a hall.

And there was no one around. No shouting, no footsteps, no return fire.

Only the scream of the wind and the riot.

She lowered her gun and let out a breath.

She was in.

Now, to find Runt, and get out.

Quixxa felt her whole body starting to tense as she stood up and hustled to the entrance of the office. Papers and chunks of debris had been scattered by the blast, but other than that, it was normal. Quiet.

There was a lot of building. More than she could cover easily.

But all she needed was a way to get to the cells.

~

Runt panted, his whole body shaking violently as he tugged taser filaments out of his armor, the electric pop still filling the air as the lethal weapon tried to find a way past his shock-proof suit. Runt looked down and behind him, towards the base of the concrete stairwell he'd ascended.

Thunderous blows tried to beat down the door he'd barricaded.

He swallowed and tried to suppress his panic.

Ok Runt. Nearly out. Keep climbing. He thought, tossing aside the taser filaments.

He leapt upwards, seizing the next railing above him and hauling himself up.

Nearly out...

~

It had been several minutes.

Progress was slow, double-checking every corner and sneaking the whole way. But she hadn't had an incident yet. The building seemed to be empty, compliments of the riot. She'd wandered a few halls, searching for anything to give her directions.

And she was fairly sure she'd just found her breakthrough.

Quix gently pushed open the door to the stairwell she'd found, looking back and forth and keeping a tight grip on her gun. Her eyes shot to the bare grey wall and noted the stenciled-on directions.

Admin- 3

Offices-2

She skipped a few lines, looking for the only thing that mattered.

Cell blocks- B5-B4

That's where Runt would be.

Quixxa looked down, leaning over the rail as she kept her gun pointed up. She watched the Springer leap to the next flight of stairs, clambering frantically upwards as footsteps filled the stairwell behind.

Her stomach dropped.

"Runt!" She shouted, taking a gamble.

The figure paused for a half second, and looked up.

It was him.

Quixxa's whole body exploded with adrenaline, her heartrate leaping and her focus narrowing as the Springer made the next leap to her floor. He clambered over the railing as she helped, pulling him to the floor then onto his feet.

She didn't have time to celebrate, to hug him, to ask how he was.

She only had time to help.

"Runt!" she said, trying not to shout. "That you?"

"Yeah," his muffled, electronic voice said. "It's me."

Quixxa nodded, feeling her chest tighten.

"Alright, let's get you outta here." She said, tapping him on the bicep and turning around. She ploughed through the door and started to head back towards the window.

"How'd you get out?" Quixxa asked quietly, peeking around a corner into an office. Her hands gripped her gun tighter as she heard him behind her.

"I... I squeezed out..."

She paused and looked at Runt.

Behind his visor, she could only imagine how he felt. His poise spoke volumes. Hunched, arms half-wrapped around him, his tail dragging, head bowed.

She felt her heart break, and her mind rage.

"I'm sorry Runt..." She said, pressing her emotions to the side. "I'm so sorry. I'm getting you out of here now. Just hang on."

She turned back, trying not to let the gash in her spirit dig too deep as she broke into a reckless lope through the office, throwing glances down halls and keeping her finger kissing the trigger. It was up to her to get him out. And to keep him alive.

She could manage that much, but she owed him twice that.

The roar of the sandstorm filled Quixxa's ears as she led Runt into the corner office. Her bare feet crunched on shattered glass as she shoved her gun into her waistband and looked back at Runt.

"C'mon, this way."