Rain lashed the alley, a cold curtain that soaked Elias Varn to the bone as he slumped against the dumpster, its rusted edge digging into his back. The thin gray gown clung to his shivering frame, translucent with water, and his bare feet sank into a puddle, the chill numbing his toes. Without his glasses, the neon signs of West Hollow blurred into streaks of red and blue, a dizzying smear against the night sky. The ember in his chest flickered, a faint heat fighting the sedative's lingering fog, and his breath hitched, the stranger's words—"It's your tool"—clashing with the Shroud's whisper: "You will burn."
Rory Tate crouched beside him, his patched hoodie sodden and heavy, his red hair plastered across his freckled forehead. His skateboard lay propped against the dumpster, rain pooling in its cracks, and his green eyes darted skyward as the chopper's thrum grew louder, its spotlight slicing through the downpour. "They're close," he muttered, vibration humming faintly in his hands as he wiped rain from his face. "That creepy staff guy bailed just in time—figures."
Elias clutched his knees, the ember flaring with a pang that made him wince. "They're always close," he rasped, voice raw as rain streaked his cheeks, mingling with tears he couldn't stop. "Voss, the Shroud—it doesn't matter where I go. I'm—I'm a signal they won't ignore." His eyes glowed faintly, a shimmer that cut through the blur, and the rain seemed to hum, a faint echo of the tunnel's energy.
Rory grabbed his shoulder, his grip firm despite the tremor in his bruised hands. "Hey, snap out of it. We're not caught yet—focus on that." He squinted into the alley, rain dripping from his nose, and tensed as the chopper's beam swept closer, illuminating a stack of crates at the far end. "We've got seconds—move or fight. Your call."
Elias's throat tightened, the stranger's challenge ringing in his ears—"Claim it." Fight? He'd never fought—not bullies, not his fears, not the quiet life he'd lost. The ember pulsed, a heat that begged release, and the Shroud's voice stirred: "You are the spark." He shook his head, rain flying from his dark hair. "I can't—I don't know how—"
The chopper's roar drowned him out, its spotlight pinning them against the dumpster, rain glinting like shards of glass in the beam. A voice boomed through a megaphone: "Elias Varn—surrender now! You're surrounded!" Drones buzzed in, their red lights blinking through the downpour, and tactical figures rappelled from the chopper, boots splashing into puddles as they fanned out—black gear, red visors, devices humming with that piercing white light.
Rory leapt up, vibration flaring as he swung his skateboard, cracking a drone midair with a burst of sparks. "Guess it's fight, then!" he shouted, shoving Elias behind him as the figures advanced, their devices firing—darts whizzing past, one grazing his arm with a sting of cold. "Elias—do something!"
Panic surged, the ember erupting, and Elias's eyes blazed, a pulse ripping outward through the rain. The drones stuttered, two crashing into the alley's walls, and the figures flinched, their devices sparking as water amplified the wave. A figure's visor cracked, and they stumbled, shouting into a radio: "Subject active—escalate suppression!" The white light flared again, sharper, stabbing Elias's skull, but the Shroud's voice roared over it: "Claim it!"
Elias staggered, rain soaking his gown, and the ember burned brighter, a heat he couldn't contain. "I—I don't want to hurt anyone!" he cried, but the pulse surged again, wild and uncontrolled, rattling the alley. A figure's device exploded, shrapnel slicing their arm, and they fell with a grunt, blood mixing with the rain. Horror clawed at Elias, the glow in his eyes dimming, and he sank to his knees, sobbing. "No—no, I didn't mean—"
Rory tackled another figure, vibration pulsing as he slammed them into a crate, wood splintering under the force. "You're not killing 'em—just keep 'em off us!" he yelled, ducking a dart as the chopper dipped lower, its downdraft whipping the rain into a frenzy. But the figures adjusted, their devices syncing into a unified tone—a piercing hum that locked Elias's limbs, dimming the ember, pulling him down.
"Enough!" Dr. Thalia Voss's voice cut through, sharp and cold, as she stepped from the chopper's shadow, her coat billowing despite the rain. Her silver-streaked hair gleamed wet, and her tablet glowed in her hands, streaming data as she aimed a sleek gun at Elias. "You're a liability, Elias—unstable, unpredictable. But I can fix that." She fired, a pulse of white slamming him back, the ember numbed, his eyes flickering as he hit the pavement.
Rory lunged, vibration flaring, but a figure tackled him, pinning his arms as a dart sank into his neck. He slumped, cursing weakly, and Voss approached Elias, crouching beside him, rain dripping from her sharp features. "You're not a monster," she said, her tone almost gentle. "You're a phenomenon—a key to something extraordinary. The Shroud, your pulses—it's all data, and I'll have it."
Elias's vision blurred, the rain a cold veil, but the Shroud's voice broke through, faint but defiant: "You are mine." His eyes glowed, a weak pulse rippling out, and the alley trembled, a nearby grate buckling as blue light seeped from below. Voss's gun sparked, and she recoiled, her smile faltering as the figures shouted: "Entity activity—recalibrate!"
The blue flared, tendrils snaking from the grate, not the Shroud's shadow but a figure—stone-skinned, green-eyed, the woman from the warehouse, her cracked hands glowing as she rose. "Beacon," she rasped, voice gravelly, and slammed a fist into the pavement, a shockwave of green knocking the figures back, cracking their visors. Voss stumbled, her tablet falling, and the woman grabbed Elias, hauling him up as Rory stirred, shaking off the dart's haze.
"Run," she growled, shoving Elias toward Rory, who scrambled to his feet, vibration pulsing as he snatched his skateboard. The chopper's beam swung, Voss shouting orders—"Contain the secondary—priority on Varn!"—but the stone woman pulsed again, green light shattering a drone midair, giving them a gap.
Rory dragged Elias down a side alley, rain pounding as the stone woman held the line, her glow fading into the chaos. "Move—don't look back!" Rory panted, his grip bruising, and Elias stumbled, the ember flickering, the Shroud's voice a whisper: "Claim it, or they will."
They ducked into a doorway, a rusted overhang shielding them as the chopper's thrum faded, the stone woman's stand buying them seconds. Elias slumped against the wall, rain dripping from his hair, and Rory crouched, panting, his skateboard clutched tight. "She's—she's one of yours," he said, voice shaky. "Awakened, right? You're not alone in this."
Elias's chest heaved, the ember a dull ache, and he stared at the blurred rain, Voss's words—"I'll have it"—clashing with the Shroud's call. "I don't know what to do," he whispered, tears mixing with the wet. "Run? Fight? It's—it's too big."
Rory grabbed his hand, forcing him to meet his gaze. "You don't have to know yet—just don't give up. That stone chick didn't—she's fighting for you. Maybe you're worth it." He squeezed, vibration humming faintly, a spark of his own. "We'll figure it—together."
The ember pulsed, a flicker of heat, and Elias nodded, weak but real. The rain slowed, the chopper's hum distant, but the choice loomed—claim the Shroud, or let it claim him. The alley was quiet, but the reckoning waited.