The freight yard was a graveyard of forgotten steel, where the ghosts of industry whispered through shattered windows and rusted boxcars. The mist rolled in from the river, thick and cold, curling around Evan's legs as he moved between the hulking carcasses of trains.
Every sound was magnified — the scuff of his shoes on gravel, the soft creak of iron under strain, the distant rumble of the city that had no idea he was bleeding out his soul on its forgotten edge.
Somewhere out there, Maya was hiding, or fighting, or maybe already captured.
Evan clenched the briefcase tighter, his palm slick with sweat.
He couldn't lose it. Couldn't lose her.
A sharp metallic clang echoed from the far side of the yard. Evan froze, ducking behind the skeletal remains of an engine.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
Not Maya.
He peered through a shattered window, heart hammering against his ribs. A man moved through the mist, his silhouette blurred and monstrous. Tactical gear. Rifle cradled casually in one arm.
The hunter.
Evan dropped to his belly, crawling through the mud and gravel, barely breathing. He made it to the next boxcar and slipped inside, the scent of rust and oil thick enough to choke on.
Somewhere above him, a bird — or something like it — shrieked, a thin, dying sound.
Evan pushed on, navigating the labyrinth with the grim determination of the condemned.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder.
He whipped around, ready to fight — but it was Maya.
"Jesus," Evan gasped, nearly collapsing.
She put a finger to her lips. Her face was streaked with grime, a thin line of blood trailing from her hairline.
"Come on," she whispered. "This way."
They moved together, slipping through the cracks of the dying world, two rats in a city that had long since stopped caring.
Maya led him to a service hatch beneath an abandoned control tower. The grate was half-ripped from its hinges, a black mouth yawning into the earth.
Without hesitation, she dropped down.
Evan followed, landing in a knee-deep pool of stagnant water.
The tunnel stretched out before them, a vein of rot and decay leading deeper into the city's bones.
Maya yanked the grate back into place.
Above them, the hunters moved past, unaware.
For now.
They pressed on through the darkness, splashing through the fetid water. Evan's muscles screamed for rest, but fear and adrenaline drove him onward.
Finally, after what felt like hours, they emerged into a crumbling maintenance chamber.
Maya sank to the floor, breathing hard.
Evan dropped beside her, chest heaving.
For a long moment, they just sat there, the briefcase between them like a third presence, heavy with unspoken promises and silent threats.
"Why didn't you just leave it?" Evan asked finally, voice hoarse. "Why not drop it and run?"
Maya looked at him, something raw and painful in her eyes.
"Because this..." she said, resting her hand lightly on the case, "this is bigger than us. Bigger than living another day. They can't be allowed to keep doing this."
Evan wanted to argue. He wanted to scream that none of it mattered if they were dead.
But he didn't.
Because deep down, he knew she was right.
A low rumble shook the chamber, dust raining down from the cracked ceiling.
Maya stiffened. "They're bringing in heavy equipment," she said grimly. "Drones. Scanners. We won't be able to hide for long."
Evan swore under his breath. "Options?"
Maya wiped blood from her brow. "One. Get to the surface. Blend with the crowd. Disappear until we can leak the files."
"And the other?"
She smiled grimly. "Die down here like rats."
Evan got to his feet, joints protesting.
"Surface it is," he said.
They moved again, navigating the collapsing underbelly of the city. Every step was a risk, every breath a gamble.
Evan's world narrowed to the weight of the briefcase and the steady beat of his heart, loud in the suffocating dark.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, they found a service ladder leading up into the unknown.
Maya climbed first, agile despite her injuries. Evan followed, the case strapped awkwardly to his back.
At the top, Maya worked the hatch loose and eased it open.
Bright light flooded in, blinding after the darkness.
Evan shielded his eyes.
They were in a bustling marketplace — a chaos of bodies and noise and color. Food stalls, street performers, shouting vendors.
Perfect cover.
They climbed out, merging into the crowd like ghosts.
For a few precious minutes, Evan let himself believe they might actually make it.
And then he saw them.
Two men in suits, moving against the flow of the crowd, eyes scanning faces with cold precision.
Initiative agents.
Maya saw them too. She grabbed Evan's hand — no time for pride — and dragged him through the throng.
They ducked into a narrow alley, weaving between crates and trash piles.
The agents followed, relentless.
Ahead, a battered door hung open. Without hesitation, Maya yanked Evan inside.
They found themselves in a dim bar, the air thick with cigarette smoke and old regret.
Eyes turned toward them — rough men and harder women, sizing them up with the lazy calculation of predators.
Maya didn't hesitate. She strode to the bar, slammed a wad of cash down.
"Back door," she said.
The bartender, a heavyset man with a lazy eye, jerked his thumb toward the rear.
They bolted through the bar, the door slamming behind them just as the agents entered the front.
Another alley. Another mad dash.
Their lungs burned. Their legs screamed.
But they didn't stop.
Couldn't stop.
Not now.
Not when freedom was just out of reach, waiting like a promise at the end of the world.
They burst into another street, stumbled into a crowd. A parade — drums pounding, banners waving.
Perfect chaos.
They slipped through the bodies, swallowed by the noise and color.
Behind them, the agents struggled to follow, hampered by the madness of the celebration.
Maya led Evan toward a line of motorbikes parked along the curb.
She picked one with practiced ease, hotwired it in seconds.
"Get on!" she shouted.
Evan didn't argue. He swung on behind her, clutching the case with one hand and the bike with the other.
Maya gunned the engine, and they shot into the chaos.
The city blurred around them — color and light and noise melting into a single, overwhelming tide.
For the first time, Evan tasted something like hope.
Until he saw the black SUV roaring after them.
The chase was on.
Maya weaved through traffic with terrifying skill, dodging between cars, cutting through alleys, blasting through red lights.
The SUV followed, relentless.
Gunfire cracked. A bullet tore through the side mirror.
Maya cursed, leaning low over the handlebars.
Evan clutched her tighter, the case pressed against his chest like a shield.
They sped toward the river, the mist rising to meet them like a living thing.
Ahead, the bridge loomed — half-collapsed, barricaded with concrete and barbed wire.
A dead end.
Maya didn't slow down.
"Evan," she shouted over the roar of the engine, "when I say jump, you jump!"
"What?!"
"Trust me!"
He didn't have time to argue.
The bridge rushed up to meet them.
At the last possible second, Maya wrenched the bike sideways, sending it skidding toward the barricade.
"Jump!" she screamed.
Evan jumped.
Time slowed.
He flew through the mist, the world spinning around him, the case still clutched in his arms.
He hit the water hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs.
For a moment, he sank, the river swallowing him whole.
Then instinct kicked in. He kicked upward, fighting the current, the case a dead weight dragging at him.
He broke the surface, gasping.
Maya surfaced beside him, blood streaming from a cut on her forehead.
"You okay?" she rasped.
He nodded, coughing up water.
"Swim," she said. "Before they find us."
They struck out toward the far shore, the city a blur of lights and noise behind them.
They didn't stop.
Couldn't stop.
The Initiative would keep hunting. The city would keep bleeding.
But for now, they had the files.
They had the truth.
And for the first time, they had a fighting chance.
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