"Look, kid, ain't a game," Doug said, his voice serious but not unkind. "We need your help getting to the nearest hospital. Can you do that?"
ZE210's grin widened. "Pshh, easy! Just follow me, folks!"
Without another word, he sprinted toward a nearby bicycle, hopping on with practiced ease. He turned back, waving them forward.
"Wait—what about us?" Tucker asked.
ZE210 tapped his chin in mock thought, then suddenly hopped off his bike and dashed into a nearby shop. A few seconds later, he reappeared, holding up a jingling set of keys. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he hurried to a bike rack and began unlocking five more.
Madison narrowed her eyes. "Did you just—"
ZE210 tossed her a key, cutting her off. "Ya might wanna get movin'—pretty sure the owner's not having the best day!"
"You stole these?!" Madison snapped.
"Ehh… maybe." ZE210 smirked.
Tucker let out a loud laugh. "Haha! I like this kid."
Micheal hoisted the injured Shirley onto his back, making sure he was secure before grabbing a bike. The rest of the group followed suit.
Doug, however, struggled to find his balance. His bike wobbled beneath him as he gritted his teeth in frustration.
"You seriously don't know how to ride a bike?" Madison asked, unimpressed.
Doug shot her a glare. "Of course I do! I'm just… warming up."
Before Madison could retort, an enraged woman burst out of the shop, her face red with fury. She spotted the group instantly and let loose a string of curses that made even Tucker wince.
ZE210's eyes widened. "Welp! Time to go!"
He took off, pedaling at full speed, and the others scrambled to follow. Even Doug, after nearly tipping over twice, managed to get going—just in time to avoid the furious shopkeeper lunging after him.
The group sped down the cracked streets of Choreees, their stolen bikes rattling beneath them as they weaved between the scattered crowds. The city was alive with noise— road workers shouting, citizens helping clean up debris, and the march of people singing.
Shirley, still slumped against Micheal's back, groaned. "Can we not have a high-speed chase while my entire body is aching?"
"No promises!" ZE210 called back, pedaling effortlessly ahead of them. "Gotta keep the momentum! And also, that lady is still chasin' us!"
Doug glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, the furious shopkeeper was still hot on their trail, waving a broom in the air like a weapon.
"Come on!" Doug groaned. "How is she this fast?!"
"She's got rage on her side!" Tucker cackled, swerving to avoid a pothole.
Up ahead, ZE210 suddenly veered to the left, leading them into a narrow alleyway. "Shortcut! Keep up, slowpokes!"
The others followed, skidding around the turn. The alley was tight, barely wide enough for their bikes. Stacks of broken crates and barrels lined the walls, and fallen utility poles hung low just above their heads.
Doug, still struggling with balance, nearly slammed into a wooden crate. "Why is this alley so small?!" he grumbled.
"Quit complaining and go faster!" ZE210 shouted.
They burst out of the alley and onto a busier street. Horns blared as they zipped through traffic, narrowly dodging carts and pedestrians.
"Left!" ZE210 shouted.
"Right!" Doug corrected.
"No, definitely left!" ZE210 insisted.
They reached the intersection—right as a massive wagon pulled by two oxen lumbered into their path.
"Oh, hell no—"
The group split in different directions. Madison and Tucker skidded to one side, barely squeezing past the wagon, while Micheal and Shirley ducked low, speeding underneath it at the last second. Doug, still trying to regain control of his bike, yelped as he hit a bump, went airborne, and—CRASH, landed headfirst in a pile of debris.
Madison, now safely on the other side, doubled over laughing. "Doug, you suck at this!"
Doug popped his head out of the debris, "I hate all of you."
ZE210, still speeding ahead, turned and gave them a thumbs-up. "Great teamwork, guys! We're almost at the hospital!"
Doug groaned as he pulled himself free and started pedaling again. "Why did we even start following this kid?"
The others just laughed, picking up speed as they raced toward their destination.
They rode through the city streets, weaving between carts, pedestrians, and the occasional hovering transport, before finally arriving at their destination.
The Central Healing Pavilion towered before them, a massive structure with gold-lined edges that glinted under the sun. Its pristine windows reflected the sky so perfectly. The building was split into three enormous sections, each one seemingly larger than the last. The vast parking lot stretched out before them, packed with ambulances, bikes, and worn-down personal vehicles.
The group skidded to a stop, hastily parking their bikes before rushing toward the entrance.
The moment they stepped inside, a wave of noise hit them—shouts, murmurs, and pained groans all blending into a chaotic symphony. The air was thick with the sharp scent of antiseptic and something metallic, almost like blood.
The waiting area was packed. There weren't nearly enough seats, leaving most people to stand, lean against walls, or even sit on the floor. A line stretched from the reception desk all the way back to the entrance, at least three hundred people long. Some clutched wounds hastily wrapped in bandages, while others coughed violently, their bodies weak and trembling.
Hallways branched out endlessly in every direction, each one lined with rows of occupied chairs. Stressed medics in sweat-stained uniforms rushed past, their faces drawn with exhaustion as they scrambled to tend to emergencies.
The group stood frozen, taking in the sheer chaos around them.
"Uh oh," ZE210 muttered.
Micheal stepped forward, tapping a passing staff member on the shoulder. "Hey, what's going on? Why is it so crowded?"
The nurse barely spared him a glance before sighing, her voice strained. "Because of the fight near the café! Dozens of people got caught in the shockwaves—blown away, crushed, injured. It's a madhouse today."
As the group stood in the chaos of the hospital, Micheal clenched his jaw. "This isn't going to work," he muttered. "Shirley needs help now, and we'll be waiting here for hours."
Madison glanced at Shirley, who was barely holding himself upright, his face pale from blood loss. His breath came out in ragged gasps, and sweat clung to his forehead. Something in her chest tightened. She had to do something.
Without thinking, she stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Shirley's shoulder. "Shirley-boy, stay completely still."
His half-lidded eyes flickered toward her, tired but stubborn as ever. Madison took a deep breath, letting herself focus—not on the noise around her, not on the overwhelming sickness and injuries in the room—just on him.
A warm glow began to pulse from her fingertips. It was faint at first, like a single ember, but then it spread— green and golden, wrapping around Shirley's body.
The exhaustion in his eyes started to lift. His wounds, the small cuts and deep bruises, began to mend right before their eyes. The gash on his neck sealed itself, the blood fading as if it had never been there. His breathing steadied.
The others watched in stunned silence.
"Whoa…" ZE210 whispered.
Micheal's eyes widened. "Madison… is that—?"
She exhaled sharply, pulling her hand back as the glow slowly faded. A slight wave of dizziness hit her, but she steadied herself.
Shirley blinked, flexing his fingers as if testing his own body. Then, a smirk stretched across his face. "Damn, Madison," he said, stretching his arms like he had just woken up from a nap. "That's some trick you got there."
Madison rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips. "Regret healing you already."
Doug crossed his arms, still in shock. "You never said you could do that."
Madison shrugged. "Sucks."
Micheal's expression darkened slightly, his mind clearly racing. "That was Hope Presence…" he murmured under his breath. "Did she… inherit it?"