We scrambled into a shadowed corner, low behind stacked crates, eyes locked on the entrance. Telepathic understanding passed between them without a word, an instinctual coordination honed by months of chaos. Seven officers stormed the store, flashlights cutting through the darkness, guns drawn, adrenaline sharp in our muscles.
My eyes narrowed on one of them. I flickered a memory, a phantom scene of the officer being attacked from behind by his own comrades. Confusion, fear, panic: Joel amplified every one of them to the breaking point.
The officer spun around instinctively, firing blindly at the imagined threat. Shots tore through the air. Three officers dropped dead instantly. One slumped in a heap, badly wounded. The remaining two froze, derailed, minds teetering on the edge.
I fed visions of demonic apparitions directly into their perception, twisting their memories into nightmares. Joel surged their panic to the maximum, and the officers fled screaming, claiming the store was haunted by impossible horrors, calling frantically for backup.
Blood dripped from my nose, the pounding headache splitting my skull. Joel's muscles ached, adrenaline scorching every nerve, but there was no escape, we were boxed in, trapped by the task force at the entrance.
Joel's gaze fell on grenades and smoke bombs scattered among the dead officers. He grabbed two grenades and hurled them into the doorway. Two thunderous explosions rocked the store, tearing through the remaining defenders. He tossed a smoke grenade after, thick clouds swirling instantly, and pushed panic into every corner of the street, every mind within reach. Chaos reigned.
Grabbing me by the arm, Joel dragged him into the smoke, over debris and blood. Outside, two lightly armed officers were investigating the impact of the blast near their rented car. Joel raised his automatic rifle which he grabbed from one of the dead officers and fired point-blank. Two bodies hit the pavement with dull thuds. No hesitation. No mercy. He vaulted into the driver's seat with me beside him and slammed the accelerator.
Police cruisers poured onto the street, engines roaring, lights slicing through the smoke. One shot tore through the tire, another grazed my arm, searing pain flaring instantly. Joel yanked the steering wheel, dodging between cars and obstacles. Screeching metal and burning rubber filled the air.
I tightened the bloodied cloth around my arm, biting down on pain. "Oh fuck… no… shit, we're going to crash! Cars up ahead."
Joel yanked the handbrake, sending the car spinning sideways with terrifying precision, doing a 360 turn towards the side where we arrived from, the pursuing cars left disoriented. Tires screamed against asphalt, sparks flying. The police up ahead hesitated, trying to block us, but coordination failed under Joel's chaos, under the calculated fury of two fugitives who had nothing to lose.
We barreled through neighborhoods, out of the city, tearing onto the open highway, tires smoking, hearts hammering. Police cars trailed relentlessly, but Joel's instincts were razor-sharp. Every turn, every drift, every acceleration was a statement: they would not be caught tonight.
Hours passed in a blur of speed and fear. Finally, we reached Quapic, far from Leazing, a pale moon illuminating the countryside. We abandoned the battered rental car, bought a new car with the cash we had looted, and melted into the streets of Zurrac, far in the eastern city.
My chest heaved. Bloodied, battered, obsession still burning in my eyes. "This isn't over yet, Joel."
Joel remained silent.
We rested in the hotel that night, the room heavy with silence. No words were exchanged, just the occasional sigh, the sound of the ceiling fan spinning lazily, the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. I could feel my chest tightening with every passing minute, the memory of what had happened earlier gnawing at me, twisting my stomach inside out.
Sleep was impossible, but the exhaustion of adrenaline and fear finally forced me to lie down. After what felt like hours, I could bear it no longer. I pulled on my jacket, left quietly, and stepped into the freezing November night.
I wandered the streets, headlights illuminating the cracked sidewalks. The city was alive in its own cruel way, but it was a harsh, unkind life: drug addicts shaking in doorways, skin raw and hands trembling; homeless families huddled together for warmth, their faces pale and silent; disabled individuals dragging themselves across concrete like shadows, limbs bent unnaturally, shivering uncontrollably.
Each sight carved deeper into my mind. My chest tightened, lungs felt as if they were shrinking. I remembered Joel's words about the randomness of suffering, about how some people were born to endure pain their entire lives. I couldn't reconcile it. "Why?" I whispered into the wind. "Why does God, or whoever, let this happen?"
I stopped at a corner store, buying food, drinks, alcohol, cigarettes, anything that might give temporary relief to those suffering on the streets. I handed them out quietly, muttering to myself, "At least this will give them a moment of relief." There was no gratitude, no recognition, just the fleeting relief in their eyes. I felt a small, bittersweet satisfaction. A fleeting sense that I had done some good in a world that offered none.
Returning to the hotel, I saw Joel asleep. My eyes lingered on him, rage and grief battling inside. "He was the one behind the killing of Thea all along and I… I was blaming myself this whole time… he was manipulating me from the beginning. I should have known, Vanz was right about him… and he is now sleeping soundly?"
I placed my hand on Joel's throat, almost wishing I could strangle the questions out of him. "Why did you make me kill Thea?" I whispered, my voice tight, raw. But the answer was impossible, and the only thing left was the necessity of Joel's presence. I exhaled, sank back into the bed, staring at the ceiling. Memories of Thea, Vanzz, James, my family, all tangled with sorrow and rage, while a single tear finally escaped, a rare, silent acknowledgment of loss.
Joel opened his eyes slowly, the dim light of the hotel room filtering through the curtains. Fear lingered in him, an old familiar weight, and for the first time in awhile, a tear slid down his cheek. It felt strange, alien, and yet profoundly relieving. The sight triggered memories he had locked away for a long time, memories he hadn't allowed himself to confront. He remembered his little sister, Jesica. From the moment she was born, life seemed to single her out.