The sun climbed higher, turning the grey haze into a shimmering, oppressive heat that made the cracked ground steam. They walked for hours, a slow, painful procession through the city's corpse. Every step was a negotiation for Lulu — her breath hitching when a loose rock shifted under her bad foot or when the ground sloped unexpectedly.
Pryce never complained, simply bearing more of her weight, his arm a steady iron bar around her.
They passed scenes that would have been nightmare fuel a week ago: a child's crushed doll lying face-down in a puddle of oily water, a scorched handprint on a surviving wall, the hollow-eyed stare of a woman sifting through a pile of bricks that used to be her home.
Pryce's jokes died in his throat, replaced by a low, simmering rage that he kept carefully banked behind a stoic mask.
This wasn't collateral damage.
This was an execution.
They were nearing the old industrial sector, the landscape dominated by the skeletal remains of factoriums and processing plants, when Pryce suddenly stopped. He held up a hand, and Lulu froze, her one good eye wide with question.
"What is it?" she whispered, her voice raspy from the dust and unspoken pain.
"Company," he murmured, angling his body to shield her from the alley ahead.
Three figures emerged from between two leaning slabs of pre-fab concrete, blocking their path. They weren't survivors or Guild grunts.
They were younger, scrappier, with the gaunt, hungry look of jackals who'd been picking at the carcass of their city for too long. The leader, a lanky kid with a jagged scar across his nose and a rusty pipe in his hand, grinned, showing a mouthful of broken teeth.
"Well, look what we got here," the kid sneered, his gaze raking over Pryce's duster before settling on the small figure hiding behind him. "A couple of stragglers. Out for a morning stroll?" His two companions fanned out slightly, brandishing makeshift weapons — a sharpened rebar and a length of chain.
"Hand over whatever you got. Food. Water. That fancy coat looks pretty new for the cureent Fringe's standards." The kid's eyes narrowed on Lulu's scarf. "And let's have a look at the little mouse you got hiding there. Bet she's got some shiny trinkets."
Pryce didn't move.
He knew these kids. Not by name, but from around the fringe — the same hungry faces that used to linger near the reclamation yards, looking for easy marks or scraps. He could've taken all three of them alone without breaking a sweat back in the old days.
But Lulu was here now, hurt and exhausted. He'd much rather talk them down and keep this peaceful. No need to risk her getting caught in the crossfire.
Pryce's mind, honed by years of scraping by on the fringes, ran the numbers with brutal efficiency. Three of them, one of him, and Lulu to protect. They looked hungry and desperate — a dangerous combination.
Odds of a peaceful payout were slim; they could see he had nothing but the clothes on his back, and they clearly weren't looking to barter. Odds of talking them down for a peaceful walk? Even slimmer.
The leader's grin wasn't about negotiation in its ugliness; it was about asserting dominance.
Odds of winning a fight while keeping Lulu untouched? 'Not great.'
He let out a slow breath, a sigh of pure, unadulterated annoyance. Looked like diplomacy was still on the table — barely.
"Look, fellas," Pryce began, his voice a smooth, easy street-rat cadence that didn't match the tension coiling in his muscles. "Let's not do something stupid here. This coat's got more rips than your mom's bedsheet after fleet week, and we've been walking since dawn. All we've got is a healthythirst and a profound desire to not be here.
"How about you just let us pass, and we'll pretend this awkward encounter never happened? We can even throw in a heartfelt 'fuck you' for free, as a gesture of goodwill."
The leader's grin vanished, replaced by a scowl. The negotiation, such as it was, had failed in record time.
"Not a good enough offer," he spat, raising the pipe. "Get 'em."
The one with the rebar lunged first, a clumsy, telegraphed thrust aimed at Pryce's gut.
Pryce didn't dodge. He pivoted, shoving Lulu behind him gently to not hurt with one hand while simultaneously catching the rebar with the other. The metal slammed into his palm, and the impact should have shattered bone a day ago.
Instead, there was a dull thud as the rebar stopped dead, held in a grip that was suddenly as unyielding as the surrounding rubble.
The kid's eyes went wide with disbelief.
Pryce grinned as he looked at his hand surprised too, a flash of white teeth in the grey light. "Bad move, total mongrel." While he was thanking the angel silently.
He twisted his wrist, the motion fluid and precise, and the rebar wrenched free with a sickening crunch of bone. The attacker screamed, stumbling back and clutching his mangled hand.
Pryce tossed the rebar aside like a used toothpick.
The leader, recovering from his shock, barked an order. "Chain! Now!"
The brute with the chain swung it in a wide, deadly arc, aiming straight for Lulu.
Pryce moved fast with his newly discovered agility, pulling her tight against him and turning his back to take the hit. The chain wrapped around his shoulders with a vicious crack, biting deep through the duster and into the new muscle beneath.
A grunt of pain escaped him — not from the injury itself, but from the sheer, unadulterated annoyance of it all. He couldn't dodge. He couldn't evade. Not with Lulu right there.
He had to become a wall.