The streetlamps winked at her, red light mingling with the neon overhead and darkness crammed everywhere else. She tried to keep her mind on the steady click-clack of her heels and off the deathly silence behind her, folk in these parts didn't get quiet they got scarce; it was a pinprick of awareness scratching at the inside of her skull. From out of the night the sound of fractured glass filled her ears with enough force to spin her head around as she locked eyes on the culprit, a snoozing drunk tucked away in the gutter. She breathed a short-lived sigh of relief before turning back, a stark still silhouette juxtaposed between herself and the block of coffin apartments she called home. 
 
The stranger was different, unmoving but aware; without thinking she'd frozen before him. As her heart hammered away there was that sudden clarity shared between predator and prey--on both fronts--for although men can't smell fear they can certainly see it. When the figure stepped forward he heard it, what was meant to be a commanding 'Frag off' slid from her throat as a whimper and in that instant she knew to run, he was already chasing her. With the way she came deserted and the echo of his long strides off the asphalt she careened from the path and into the carcass of a building long condemned, stealing a glance at her pursuer as she fled. If he'd merely stopped chasing her there was a chance she could get a grip on herself, that he'd turned heel to run the opposite direction had her blood run cold. She'd missed the graffiti on the way in. 
 
Before she could follow suite someone slammed the door she was looking through from the other side and the dry metallic rasp of metal on concrete hissed down the hall at her. There were no shadows at the end, just the harsh, cheap glare of a half installed light fixture and the man beneath it. He was from a posergang, that much was clear even if the walls didn't scream it at her in big bold letters: Choirboys. He hacked at the urban decay she'd foolishly thought her salvation, the bite of his axe knelling out far and above the fleshy thwack of her fists against the barred exit. Pleading and praying she bloodied her balled knuckles against the flaked paint that bristled from the slab of steel that contained her, it and bits of raised up rust biting into her skin like brittle teeth.  Just as it seemed he was upon her the path buckled and gave way as she stumbled out into the open air, lungs raw with effort as she sent herself sprawling. Seeing what she saw there, the woman couldn't even muster the strength to rise. 
 
At least a dozen men and women were waiting for her, dressed prim and proper in their Sunday best. That alone would be chilling but the sea of serene faces staring back at her was absolute horror. A mix of masks and sculpts each member of the sparsely thronged crowd wore matching smiles, watched with the same calm eyes and turned her stomach on its side in equal measure. They hid behind the likeness of what could only be a child of less than eleven years. Even before they'd forced her into the sack she'd collapsed under the immense weight of this moment. She was certain to die, swaddled in burlap and to the muffled yet sickly sweet hymn of 'Never Grow Old.' Anger. Desperation. Sorrow. It wasn't something you could put a word to, everything about herself fell away. Just humanity laid bare. When they'd dropped something else in with her and kicked it the experience was singular. Pain. Agony smothered her every thought as the creature burrowed away from the assault, instinct driving it towards the softest, warmest thing it could find. Like a bone snapping against an ever growing pressure the end she'd feared was suddenly welcomed, and after what seemed an eternal torture she shuddered and let go. 
 
All went white. 
 
And Kanchana was suddenly back on a familiar stretch of highway, straddling a terrified stranger, their arms and legs tethered to no less than four different streetcycles. [color=f6989d]"Drek."[/color] she muttered, shaking off the initial kick of the experience [color=f6989d]"Frag'n flash boys, flash. We got some ace croakers here, pick whatever kit you can find off this coyote."[/color] Kali rumbled, stuffing herself back into a pair of taut leather pants. [color=f6989d]"Gonna' swipe your ride loverboy, but null-fret--we'll help you split fore' Sec shows."[/color] she called down to the badly beaten smuggler, everything in her voice announcing she were privy to some private joke. The punchline wasn't far off, soon as they loaded up everything they could carry and sparked up their ignitions the air filled with the smell of burnt rubber and the brief, audible strain of tearing sinew. With a messy pop the unlucky crook took off to the east, west, north and south courtesy of a quartet of high output engines and a few feet of steel fetter. [color=f6989d]"Damn"[/color] she chuckled over the cheering of her cohorts [color=f6989d]"Anyone make a wish?"[/color] There was a series of groans eked out under the roar of their machines. No matter she thought. There was always next time.