The rain in sector 8 didn't wash the city clean; just made the grime slicker.
Howl sat perched on the gargoyle of a crumbling tenement building, his silhouette cutting a sharp line against the bruised purple sky. Below him Oakhaven City sprawled a mechanical wound. It was a terrace of concrete and neon, stacking downwards into the abyss. Above, the distant lights of the canopy in a mockery of gold and white, a paradise built on the roof of a prison, but down here in the Undergrowth, the only light came from the flickering advertisements for "Flux" and the bioluminescent moss clinging to the rusted pipes.
He didn't shiver, despite the cold water matting his long, white hair against his neck and face. He was listening.
The city hummed with a chaotic rhythm-the rattle of the mag-lev trains climbing the terrace slopes, the thumping bass of a noodle bar three blocks over, the distant wail of sirens. Howl tuned that out, his ears sharper than any humans, swiveled toward a specific sound echoing from an alleyway in Sector 4.
Thump-Thump. Thump- Thump.
It was a heartbeat. Erratic. Terrified. Like a rabbit trapped in a snare.
It was followed by the heavy, hydraulic rhythm of boots hitting pavement. Three sets. Confident. Predators on the hunt.
"Not tonight," Howl murmured, the sound vibrating as a low growl in his chest.
He stood up, his amber eyes reflecting the navy-blue gloom. He flexed his hands, and with a metallic shing, his fingernails extended into translucent, razor sharp claws. He didn't fly; he didn't have the anti-gravity tech of the canopy heroes. He relied on physics and muscle.
He dropped from the ledge, catching a fire escape railing with one hand and swinging, using his momentum into a fluid, predatory leap toward the alleyway below.
The alley smelled of ozone and stale grease.
At the end of the alleyway, a girl was backed against a dumpster. She couldn't have been more than seventeen, wearing a hoodie three sizes too big that swallowed her small frame. She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered, but it wasn't from the cold.
Three men stood between her and freedom. They wore tactical armor, stripped of official insignias, but the gear was unmistakable: Department of Variant Control. DVC.
"Hand over the drive, kid," the leader growled, his voice modulated by the helmet. He raises his stun baton, the tip crackling with blue electricity. "And maybe we won't process you. Maybe you just disappear quietly."
The girl squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't have it!"
"Wrong answer."
The leader stepped forward, raising his baton.
Howl landed in a puddle between them. He hit the ground in a crouch, the water splashing silently, absorbed by the noise of the city. He stayed low, head bowed, his white hair curtaining his face.
The three agents froze.
"Walk away," Howl said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that made the air heavy.
The leader scoffed, signaling his subordinates to flank. "A stray? In Sector 4? You walked into the wrong alley, mutt. Identify yourself."
Howl slowly stood up to his full six-foot height. He brushed the wet hair from his face, revealing those piercing, amber eyes. He tilted his head to the side, a gesture that was almost canine, almost playful. But his claws glinted in the neon light of a "ramen" sign above them.
"I'm just the guy who takes out the trash," Howl said.
"Take him down!" The leader shouted.
The agent on the left lunged, swinging a heavy riot club. Howl didn't block; he moved. He was a blur of motion, ducking under the swing with unnatural speed. He grabbed the agents wrist, his grip crushing the armor plating. With a simple twist of the hips, Howl used the man's momentum to throw him into the brick wall. The agent crumpled like a wet paper bag.
"That's one," Howl whispered.
The second agent fired a taser cartridge. Howl caught the wires mid-air, slicing them with a swipe of his claws before the barbs could touch his skin. He closed the distance in a single leap, driving a knee into the agents chest plate. The man went flying backwards, landing in a pile of garbage and debris.
"That's two."
The leader stumbled back, his confidence replaced by the primal fear of a man realizing he's no longer at the top of the food chain. He raised his stun baton, hand trembling.
"You… you're a Synthetic," the leader stammered. "You're supposed to be extinct. Project Canis… they were supposed to kill you."
Howl stepped into the light, baring his teeth in a grin that held no humor. "I'm not dead. I'm just, off my leash."
He raised a clawed hand to end the fight, to disarm the man and vanish back into the shadows.
But suddenly, the air in the alley changed.
The rain didn't hit the ground. It turned into steam instantly, hissing as it evaporated. The temperature spiked, dry and blistering, like an oven door opening in the middle of a storm.
Howl froze, his nose twitching. The scent of burning ozone filled his lungs. It wasn't the baton.
He looked past the terrified agent to the girl.
She was hyperventilating. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears evaporating off her cheeks before they could fall. Her hands were glowing-not with a gentle light, but with a violent, unstable orange energy that crackled like a dying star.
"Stop it! Leave me alone!" She screamed.
BOOM
An explosion of pure kinetic energy heat exploded from her.
It hit the DVC leader like a freight train, knocking him unconscious instantly and slamming into the far wall. The windows of the tenement building above shattered inward.
Howl reacted on instinct. He dug his claws into the asphalt to anchor himself, crossing his arms over his face as the heat wave washed over him. It singed the tips of his white hair and dried the mud on his boots instantly.
Silence returned to the alley, save for the sizzling of wet pavement.
Howl lowered his arms. The girl was slumped against the dumpster, the glow fading, leaving her exhausted and terrified. She looked at her hands as if they were foreign objects.
"I… I didn't mean to…" she whispered, looking at the unconscious men.
Howl walked toward her. He didn't run; he didn't want to spook her. He moved with a calm, steady gait.
"Kid," he said softly.
She flinched, curling into a ball. "Don't hurt me. please."
"I'm not going to hurt you," Howl said, kneeling in front of her. He could smell the fear on her-acrid and sharp. "But you just lit up a thermal flare that every scanner in the Canopy probably picked up."
As if on cue, a low, mechanical thrumming sound echoed from the sky. Howl's ears swiveled upward. High above, piercing the gloom of the terrace layers, searchlights cut through the rain. The heavy whoosh-whoosh of DVC drop-ships was getting louder.
"Reinforcments," Howl grunted. He looked at the girl "Can you run?"
She shook her head, her legs trembling. "I don't think so."
Howl sighed. He stood up and extended a hand. His claws retracted, leaving only a calloused, human palm.
"Then you better hold on tight," he said. "My name is Howl. If you want to live, you're coming with me."
The girl hesitated, looking at the destruction she caused, then at the amber eyes of the stranger offering her a lifeline. She reached out and took his hand.
"I'm Ren," she whispered.
Howl pulled her up, effortlessly scooping her into his arms. He looked at the sheer brick wall at the tenement building.
"Welcome to the Undergrowth, Ren," he muttered. "Try not to scream."
With a powerful thrust of his legs, Howl launched them upward, vanishing into the neon shadows just as the searchlights swept the alley floor.