The drone's hum sliced through the stale air of the abandoned pawn shop, a mechanical whine that drilled into Elias Varn's skull like a dentist's tool. He scrambled to his feet, the granola bar skittering across the dusty floor as his sneakers squeaked against the warped boards. The lantern's flicker cast jagged shadows across the room, turning Rory's silhouette into a frantic blur as the kid darted back from the window, his red hair glinting like a warning flare.
"Move, move, move!" Rory hissed, snatching his skateboard and shoving it under his arm. His green eyes were wide, reflecting the panic Elias felt clawing up his own throat. "That thing's got eyes—cameras, lights, the works. We're toast if it locks on!"
Elias's chest tightened, the ember beneath his ribs flaring with a heat that made him gasp. He stumbled toward the door, glasses fogging with every ragged breath, the world beyond the cracked frame a haze of dark alleys and looming threats. "Where—where do we go?" His voice cracked, barely audible over the drone's rising buzz, now joined by a faint whir of rotors cutting the air outside.
Rory yanked the chain free, the rusted links clattering to the ground, and kicked the door open. "Out back—there's a cut-through to the old tracks. No lights, no crowds. C'mon!" He bolted into the alley, his skateboard's wheels rattling as he clutched it tight, and Elias followed, his legs heavy with dread but spurred by the primal urge to flee.
The night air hit him like a slap, cold and damp, carrying the sour reek of wet asphalt and rotting leaves. The alley twisted ahead, a narrow vein of shadow flanked by brick walls streaked with moss and graffiti—tags in neon yellow and red that glowed faintly under the drone's sweeping beam. The light swung closer, a stark white slash cutting through the dark, and Elias ducked instinctively, his hood flapping as he pressed himself against the wall. The beam missed him by inches, illuminating a pile of sodden cardboard boxes that sagged under the weight of last night's rain.
"Keep low!" Rory whispered, crouching ahead as he waved Elias on. The kid moved with a fluid grace, his patched hoodie blending into the shadows, but Elias stumbled, his sneakers catching on a jutting brick. He caught himself against a dumpster, the metal icy under his palms, and the ember pulsed, a jolt that made his vision swim. "Not now," he muttered, clutching his chest, terrified of what might spill out if the heat broke free.
The drone's hum sharpened, splitting into two distinct tones—another had joined the hunt. Their lights danced across the alley, crisscrossing like searchlights at a prison break, and Rory cursed under his breath. "They're doubling down. Probably news crews—those vultures love a chase." He darted toward a gap between buildings, a sliver of darkness barely wide enough for a person, and squeezed through, his skateboard scraping the brick. "This way!"
Elias hesitated, the gap looming like a trap, but the drones' beams swung closer, pinning his shadow to the wall. His heart hammered, the ember surging, and he lunged after Rory, scraping his shoulder against the rough stone as he forced his way through. The passage spat them out into a wider alley, this one sloping downward toward a tangle of overgrown weeds and rusted rails—the abandoned train tracks Rory had promised. The air here was heavier, thick with the musk of damp earth and the faint tang of metal decay.
Rory skidded to a stop, dropping his skateboard and kicking it into motion. "Hop on!" he shouted, balancing with one foot as he reached for Elias. "We'll outrun 'em!"
"I—I can't!" Elias protested, his glasses slipping as he backed away. He'd never ridden a skateboard—never had the coordination or the nerve—and the thought of crashing sent a fresh wave of panic crashing over him. The ember flared hotter, a burning knot that spread to his fingertips, and he clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.
"You can," Rory snapped, grabbing his arm and yanking him forward. "Unless you want your face plastered on every screen from here to the coast!" The drones' hum grew louder, their lights piercing the gap they'd just escaped, and Elias's resolve crumbled. He stumbled onto the board behind Rory, clutching the kid's shoulders as it wobbled under their combined weight.
"Hold tight!" Rory kicked off, the wheels grinding against the cracked pavement as they shot down the slope. The wind whipped past, tugging at Elias's hood and stinging his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, his stomach lurching with every bump. The tracks loomed ahead, a rusted spine cutting through the weeds, and Rory veered onto a parallel path of packed dirt, the board rattling as it hit the uneven ground. Elias's grip tightened, his knuckles white, and the ember pulsed in time with his racing pulse, a rhythm he couldn't escape.
The drones followed, their beams slicing through the night, illuminating patches of thistle and broken glass. One swooped low, its light blinding as it zeroed in, and Rory swerved, nearly tipping the board. "They're too fast!" he yelled, his voice tight with strain. "We need a dodge—something!"
Elias's breath hitched, fear flooding his veins, and the ember erupted. A pulse ripped outward, sharper than before, and the air shimmered around them. Rory yelped as his hands glowed faintly, his grip on the board tightening with sudden strength. The skateboard surged forward, its wheels spinning faster than physics should allow, kicking up dirt and gravel in a frantic spray. "What the hell?!" Rory shouted, but he didn't slow, steering them toward a tunnel beneath the tracks—a gaping maw of concrete and shadow.
The board shot into the tunnel, the drones' lights fading behind as the walls closed in. Darkness swallowed them, broken only by the faint glow still clinging to Rory's hands, and the wheels screeched as he braked, skidding to a stop. Elias tumbled off, hitting the ground hard, his glasses flying into the dark. Pain jolted up his knees, but he barely felt it—the ember was still burning, and something new stirred beneath it, a pressure building in his skull.
Rory leapt off the board, panting as he hauled Elias up. "You okay? What was that—did you juice me up again?" The glow faded from his hands, leaving them trembling but normal, and he stared at Elias, half-awed, half-wary.
"I don't know!" Elias groped for his glasses, fingers brushing cold concrete until he found them, one lens cracked but intact. He shoved them on, the tunnel tilting into focus—graffiti-smeared walls, puddles reflecting the faint light from the entrance, the distant hum of the drones circling outside. "It just—happens. When I'm scared. I can't stop it."
Rory kicked his board upright, catching it with a practiced flick. "Scared's an understatement, man. You're a walking panic attack." He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "That speed boost, though—saved our asses. You're handy to have around."
Elias didn't smile back. He pressed himself against the tunnel wall, the damp stone seeping through his jumpsuit, and hugged his knees. "I'm not handy. I'm a mess." The pressure in his head sharpened, a dull ache that pulsed with the ember, and the voice returned, colder and clearer than ever: "You cannot outrun your purpose." He flinched, a whimper escaping his lips, and Rory crouched beside him, frowning.
"There it is again, huh? The creepy voice?" Rory's tone softened, his bravado peeling back. "What's it saying?"
Elias swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. "That I can't run. That I have a purpose." He laughed, a brittle sound that echoed off the walls. "What purpose? Turning kids into skateboard rockets? Getting chased by drones? I'm not a hero—I'm a janitor who's losing his mind."
Rory tilted his head, studying him. "Maybe it's not about you being the hero. Maybe it's about what you do to other people—like me, or that nurse, or the mom back there. You're, like, a spark plug or something."
The words hung there, simple but heavy, and Elias's breath caught. A spark plug. A catalyst. The idea gnawed at him, but before he could grasp it, the pressure in his skull spiked—a searing jolt that made him cry out. He clutched his head, and the ember flared, brighter than ever. Light burst from his eyes, a faint shimmer that lit the tunnel in stark relief, and a pulse surged outward, uncontrolled and wild.
The tunnel shuddered, dust raining from the ceiling, and Rory staggered back as his hands glowed again—this time with a crackle of static. Sparks danced along his fingers, tiny arcs of electricity that snapped and fizzed, and he yelped, shaking them out. "Dude, cut it out! You're frying me!"
"I can't!" Elias wailed, the light flickering in his eyes as he squeezed them shut. The pulse faded, but the sparks lingered on Rory's hands, fading slowly as he flexed them, wide-eyed.
"Okay, that's new," Rory said, voice shaky but edged with excitement. "You're leveling up or something. What's next—laser beams? Flight?"
Elias didn't answer. He curled tighter against the wall, the ember settling into a dull ache, the voice silent but its presence lingering like a weight on his soul. The tunnel was quiet now, the drones' hum distant, but he knew it wouldn't last. They'd find him—reporters, rescuers, whoever else saw "The Beacon" as a prize or a threat. And he couldn't keep running—not when his fear kept turning into something he couldn't control.
Rory sat beside him, skateboard across his lap, and nudged him with an elbow. "Hey. We're safe for now, yeah? Take a breather. Figure out the freaky stuff later."
Elias nodded, barely a twitch, but the kid's presence—rough-edged and steady—kept the panic at bay, if only for a moment. Outside, the night stretched on, and the shadows waited.