Zac opened his eyes. A veil of blurriness and wet blood coated his vision. After a few seconds, it faded, and he saw everything clearly again. Laying on his stomach, an awful pain pulsated through his left leg, stealing his breath away. He pushed himself to his hands and knees.

He was alive, breathing, and bleeding. Lifting his head, Zac looked at his surroundings. Heat blasted against the side of his face. Flames engulfed the car's mangled remains, barely recognizable and wrapped around a snapped telephone pole. Oman's headless body still sat in the driver seat, his skin turning a charcoal black as flames danced around his corpse.

Kyle picked himself off the ground not too far from Zac. They both had jumped from the car at the last second, their thick sweatshirts - now tattered rags - protected them from road burn.

There was a wall of fire roaring along the street, flames rising from the long river of gas and oil leaking from the car.

Zac stood. He could barely bear weight on his left leg, the pain bouncing up to his brain almost washing his strength away.

But before Zac could faint, Kyle came sprinting by him, blood covering his face and arms. He grabbed Zac by the remains of his shirt and pulled him.

"RUN, NOW!" Kyle shrieked. He sprinted down the street.

Zac quickly looked back at the wall of flames.

He saw it.

Two red eyes bouncing behind the bright orange and yellow wall, slowly inching closer. The sound of metal scraping on asphalt cut through his ears and stole his breath.

Without thinking, Zac turned and ran. Adrenaline and fear numbing the agony in his leg. He caught up to Kyle, and they sprinted, lungs heaving, arms flailing. They could have been running for twenty seconds, but it also could have been twenty years.

They had to get away. It was coming.

Fatigue burned through their legs, and the sharp pain returned to Zac's left. They turned and bolted down an alleyway for a shortcut to the next main street. Zac hobbled on his leg.

Everything became darker as they ran deeper into the alley. Their feet splashed in puddles, soaking in through their shoes and socks, squelching against the pavement as they ran. Freezing air stung their cheeks.

But instead of a low fence to jump over at the end of the alley, there only was a tall brick wall. A dead end.

No doors, no archway. They were trapped, frozen, like a whimpering dog in a cage.

Kyle punched the wall, then punched it again. Blood gushed from his knuckles. He began laughing hysterically, his mouth widening, shifting and cracking the dried blood at the corners of his lips.

"It's him...It's him...It's him..." he repeated through high-pitched cackles.

Zac couldn't speak or breathe. An intense pressure built in his chest, blocking any air from entering or escaping his lungs.

They had to run to another alley, they couldn't stay here. But when Zac turned to run out, a black silhouette of a man stood at the end of the alley, two red eyes staring through the shadows.

At first, the shadow was motionless, like a drug-induced vision - a nightmare.

But it began moving, slowly, patiently, down the alley, one step at a time. The sounds of pistons hissing and metal grinding flooded their ears.

Kyle sucked in a sharp breath. And with clenched teeth, he snatched the pistol from his waistband and sprinted at the approaching figure.

"FUCK YOU!!!" he screamed. He aimed the gun and fired - round after round - at the physical nightmare.

Each bullet landed, hitting its target, but the figure never stopped moving. It continued its path without slowing down.

Bullets pinged off its shining silvery surface and dropped to the puddle ridden ground. Fire had burned away the rest of the man's clothes, leaving an entirely metallic and robotic body - all except for the skin of his face and head.

Wires acted like connective tissue, holding his joints together. His glowing red eyes shifted and narrowed, focusing on the gun in Kyle's hand.

Kyle stumbled back and pulled the trigger again, aiming for the man's head. But it clicked. Out of ammo.

The man stepped forward and yanked the gun from Kyle's hand. With one effortless movement, he crushed the 9 mm pistol in his grasp, leaving it a mere pile of shards. The man tossed the broken pieces behind him. They clacked on the asphalt. He grabbed Kyle by the face and lifted him into the air.

Kyle kicked and flailed, each swipe clanging off of the man's metallic chest. The man remained still, motionless, and unmoved by Kyle's attempts to break himself free.

Then the man's red eyes glowed even brighter. The red, vein-like lines returned to his arms and legs, sending the entire alley into a deep red hue.

Zac looked on in horror. He was no longer in Vlocaster City. He was in the deepest, most horrific pits of hell.

The man's metallic fingers twitched, squeezing on Kyle's face, who swore, howled, and cried as he flailed again, this time more violently. His feet kicked the man everywhere his toes could reach, but nothing happened.

The hand squeezed tighter. Kyle's screams become more high pitched, gurgling, and pleading.

He screamed for forgiveness. He shrieked for mercy. He cried for his mother.

But then, Kyle let out one, inhuman, blood curling, and disgusting squeal, before his skull caved in on itself. Blood and brains spilled out of fragments of bone, down his now limp body and to the alleyway ground, creating new crimson puddles.

The man flung Kyle's body, which splattered against the brick wall of the alley and slid down into a pile of trash bags, still gushing out blood in multiple rivers.

Two red eyes focused on Zac. He pushed himself against the back wall of the alley, his legs churning against the pavement, kicking up stones and dirt to retreat further, but to no avail.

When the man took another loud, robotic step toward him, Zac fell to his rear in a warm river of blood.

He was helpless. He was alone.

The metallic smell of blood wafted through the alleyway. It covered him, soaking through the shards of his clothes. And with each spot on him, wet or dry, he was unsure if it was Omar's, Kyle's, or his own.

Fear crippled his muscles, paralyzing him. He couldn't move - he felt hopeless. And his stomach showed for it.

He threw up all over himself. The dinner his poor, weak mother made for him so he wouldn't go hungry himself, was all a waste.

Just the thought of his mother sent a fresh wave of bubbling tears down his blood caked face. He would die that night. Both his sister and mother would now die alone, weak, skinny, and cold.

He failed them. He failed himself.

The man grabbed Zac by the throat and crushed him against the back wall, knocking the wind out of him and sending a sharp pain down his spine. The cold metallic fingers burned his skin, and they creaked with each slight movement.

Zac gasped for air, the grip squeezing tighter and tighter on his voice box.

"I'm sorry!" he screamed with all his might, "I didn't want your dog to die! I never wanted to join a gang! It was the only way I could feed my family!" The taste of salt from tears and metal from blood coated his tongue as saliva spilled out from the corners of his mouth.

"I just want to go home to my momma!! PLEASE!!!" he cried, pleaded, begged.

He'd never join a gang again. He'd get an actual job, make clean money. He'd see his mother and sister smile, observe their sunken faces fill once again. They'd watch him earn a degree, and he'd move them out of the city to start a new life - free of stress, pain, and darkness.

He wanted to be free.

The two unblinking red eyes scanned him over, shifting and dialing on his face, then dropped to his right shoulder.

The man ripped Zac's right sleeve off, showing off his bare skin and the black-inked tattoo on his deltoid. The eyes dialed again with little clicking and buzzing sounds.

"The Soaring X's," a demonic voice grumbled. He glanced back at Zac.

Snot piled on top of Zac's upper lip. He had shut his eyes, awaiting death.

Just do it. Kill me. They'll join me soon.

"Their symbol pins you to their service."

Zac opened his eyes. "W-Wha-"

But before Zac could finish the words, the man gripped his robotic hands around Zac's fleshy shoulder, and with a pull, tore his arm from his body.

Tendons and ligaments ripped from muscle and bone with ease. A loud pop bounced in the alley from his shoulder joint separating.

Zac screamed louder than he ever screamed before. It was horrid, animalistic, and caused time to slow to a stop. Blood poured out from his stump of an arm, soaking his side and leg. Pain rippled through his torso, to the other arm, then back again - awful, sharp, torturous.

Everything hurt.

The man dropped Zac to his rear. He turned and walked aside, tossing Zac's severed arm into the pile of trash next to Kyle's body. When the limb stopped tumbling down the mountain of bags, the Soaring X's tattoo on the shoulder faded away, leaving blank skin.

The cybernetics were gone, inoperable, dead.

Zac was free.

Zac's vision dimmed. The sounds of sirens and cars in the city's background merged into a gurgle. He used the last of his energy to refocus his eyes. He grabbed at his stump with this other hand, feeling the warm blood seep between his fingers.

"W-who are you?!" Zac yelled at the man's back, his words slurring through fumbling lips.

The man stopped, metal scrapping as he slowly turned on his heel and shifted his feet. His red eyes shone upon Zac's face.

"I am Kanine," he said curtly. "Now go back to your former gang, and explain to every member, including your pathetic leader, what happened tonight. Every - single - detail."

He turned around again.

"Tell them I am coming. And I will kill them all."

With that, the man walked away and disappeared behind the alley corner.

Zac slumped along the wall. Everything in his vision went gray, his hearing disappeared, and his head tilted to the side.

He closed his eyes, his body fading into the comforting warmth of the blood soaking his clothes.

He was free.

And with a long, drawn-out sigh,

Darkness ensued.