Location: Fenwick District — Highway 17 — Night
The meat truck rumbled through the night like a wounded animal.
Its headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the cracked asphalt of Highway 17. The engine groaned with each revolution, its old frame protesting the speed. The smell of blood and rust clung to the interior, a constant reminder of the truck's previous purpose. The steering wheel vibrated beneath Emilio's trembling hands, the hum of the tires against the road a low drone that seemed to press against his skull. The headlights flickered once, twice, then steadied.
Tyla's eyes were fixed on the road ahead.
Her hand rested on her chin. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were sharp. She was listening—not to the engine, not to the conversation, but to something else. The hum of the tires. The distant growl of another engine. The rhythm of a vehicle that was maintaining speed, not gaining, not falling back. The subtle shift in the air pressure as the other car closed the distance.
A sound.
Distant at first. Then closer.
The growl of an engine. The hum of tires against asphalt. The unmistakable rhythm of a vehicle accelerating. The roar grew louder, more insistent, filling the cabin with its presence.
Tyla's head turned.
Slowly. Deliberately.
Her eyes found the side mirror.
A Dodge Charger was behind them.
Its headlights were bright, cutting through the darkness. Its driver was visible through the windshield—a man with a hard face, his eyes fixed on the meat truck with the intensity of a predator. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. His jaw was set, his lips pressed together in a thin line. The interior of the Charger was dark, but the outline of a second figure was visible in the passenger seat.
Tyla's expression shifted.
Not much. Just enough.
"It appears we attracted some admirer," she said.
Her voice was calm, almost conversational.
"Some fellow is tailing us."
Lucian's head turned.
His eyes found the mirror.
"Who is it?"
"I don't know."
"Did you rat us out?"
Lucian's voice was sharp, cutting through the hum of the engine.
"No!" Emilio's voice was desperate, almost a whimper. "I didn't do nothing! I swear!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
Lucian's eyes narrowed.
"Then who is it?"
---
The Dodge Charger accelerated.
Its engine roared, a deep growl that echoed off the buildings lining the highway. The headlights grew brighter, closer, more insistent. The gap between the two vehicles shrank with each passing second. The Charger's tires screamed against the asphalt, leaving dark streaks in their wake.
Tyla's hand moved.
Not fast. Not slow. Just there.
The plates detached from her arm—two of them, their surfaces gleaming with pale blue light. They hovered beside her, humming with stored energy. The air around them shimmered, distorting with the force of the power they held. The plates rotated slowly, their edges catching the light.
"Let's see how he handles this."
She thrust her palm forward.
The plates shot backward.
Not fast. Not slow. Just there.
They streaked through the air, their edges glowing, their trajectories intersecting like threads in a loom. The energy between them crackled, spread, expanded. The sound was sharp, a crack that echoed off the buildings like a thunderclap.
Caleb's eyes widened.
"What the—"
He swerved.
The first plate passed where his hood had been. The second plate passed where his windshield had been. The third—there was no third—but the shockwave from the plates sent his car skidding across the asphalt. The tires screamed, leaving dark streaks on the road. The Charger fishtailed, its rear end swinging wildly.
"You think these clumsy parlor tricks are going to stop me?"
His voice was sharp, cutting through the chaos.
"Then you got another thing coming!"
The Dodge Charger straightened.
Its engine roared.
Marcus's voice was soft, almost amused.
"How nice, Father. It appears today might just be our lucky day."
"Mother would be happy for us."
Caleb's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"Shut the f#k up."
"Don't mention my wife."
"Not in any capacity."
"Focus on the task ahead."
Marcus's smile widened.
His reflection in the rearview mirror was wrong—too wide, too sharp, too hungry. His eyes gleamed with something that was not quite human.
---
The plates returned to Tyla's arm.
She watched the Dodge Charger recover, its engine roaring, its headlights bright. The car was still there, still pursuing, still determined. Its driver was skilled, his hands steady on the wheel.
"He's persistent," she said.
"Very persistent."
She thrust her palm forward again.
The plates shot backward.
This time, they were faster. More precise. They streaked through the air, their edges glowing, their trajectories intersecting like threads in a loom. The energy between them crackled, spread, expanded. The sound was sharp, a crack that echoed off the buildings.
Caleb swerved again.
The first plate passed where his door had been. The second plate passed where his tire had been. The third plate—there was no third—but the shockwave sent his car spinning across the asphalt. The Charger spun twice, its tires screaming, before Caleb caught the wheel.
"What the—"
He caught the wheel.
The car straightened.
His eyes were fixed on the meat truck.
"You're not getting away."
---
The plates caused chaos.
A sedan swerved, its driver caught off guard by the glowing plates. It crashed into a lamppost, its hood crumpling, its airbags deploying. The sound of metal on metal echoed through the night. A motorcycle skidded across the asphalt, its rider thrown clear. A delivery truck slammed on its brakes, its cargo spilling across the road. Boxes and crates scattered across the asphalt, creating obstacles for the pursuing vehicles.
Pedestrians screamed.
Some ran. Others froze. A few pulled out their phones, recording the chaos. The sounds of sirens grew louder, more insistent.
"What the hell is that?"
"I don't know!"
"Get down!"
"Get down!"
A group of teenagers ducked behind a bus stop. A woman dropped her groceries. A man covered his head with his hands.
"This is insane!"
"This is insane!"
---
A patrol car was parked at the side of the road.
Its officer was napping, his head leaning against the window. The chaos woke him—the screeching of tires, the sound of impact, the screaming of pedestrians. His eyes snapped open. He saw the meat truck. He saw the Dodge Charger. He saw the glowing plates.
"What the—"
He turned on his siren.
The lights flashed. The sound pierced the night.
He pulled onto the road, his car accelerating, his eyes fixed on the chase.
---
Tyla watched the patrol car join the pursuit.
Her expression shifted.
Not much. Just enough.
"It appears we attracted lots of unworthy attention," she said.
"Wonderful."
---