A metallic cough rattled Kaelen’s ribs, a fresh wave of agony blooming across his bruised side. Xylo-7, a silhouette against the flickering neon of a derelict billboard, didn't spare a glance. Her Chronal Collective insignia, usually a crisp silver, was dulled with dust. “Fool,” Xylo-7 hissed, her voice a low growl. “Always crashing your toys.” Kaelen pushed himself to a kneeling position, gritting his teeth. “Funny, coming from the agent who just landed a kilometer off target.” Rustling sounds emanated from the street below, amplified by the shattered silence. Scavenger patrols. Their heavy, uneven footsteps crunched on what sounded like broken data-slates and pulverised concrete. His long-range optics, still partially functional, highlighted three figures. Augmentations were crude but effective: one sported an arm cannon fashioned from what looked like a fusion-torch, another a reinforced rebar club. “They’ve detected the impact,” Xylo-7 stated, pulling a compact energy pistol from her thigh holster. Its sleek lines contrasted sharply with the surrounding industrial decay. Kaelen finally managed to stand, his chron-carbine heavy in his hands. “Looks like we have company.” “And an audience for your incompetence, Agent Thorne,” she countered, but her eyes scanned the broken cityscape with professional intensity. “Three hostiles. Low-grade kinetic and energy signatures. Likely localized tech.” Crunching intensified. A harsh light, a repurposed construction lamp, swept across the street. It illuminated a graffiti-scarred wall, then lingered on the smoking crater Kaelen’s pod had gouged. “They’re moving in,” Kaelen muttered, ducking further into the shadows of a collapsed market stall. The stench of ozone and stale oil hung heavy in the air. Xylo-7 swore under her breath. “Their intel on fresh drops must be excellent. Or their sensors are too advanced for this timeline.” “Doesn’t matter which,” Kaelen replied, peaking over a stack of warped metal. “We move, or we become salvage.” A guttural shout echoed from below. A scavenger, its face obscured by a crudely welded mask, gestured towards their position. The arm cannon whirred to life, a high-pitched whine preceding a dull thud. Kaelen dove, dragging Xylo-7 with him as a volley of metallic projectiles shredded the air where they’d stood. Shrapnel sang off the corrugated iron above them. “My apologies,” Kaelen grunted, “Didn't realize I was saving the illustrious Agent Xylo-7.” She shoved him off with surprising strength. “Don’t flatter yourself. Now, do you have a plan, or are we simply waiting for them to pick us apart?” “Distraction,” Kaelen said, eyeing a precariously balanced stack of rusted pipes. “Then a run for the lower levels. My pod is a beacon.” Xylo-7 didn’t argue. Their mutual survival was, for now, a stronger imperative than their ingrained animosity. It was an uncomfortable, brittle truce. He aimed his chron-carbine, a pulse of compressed chroniton particles, at the rusted pipes. The beam, precisely calibrated, struck a weak point. With a groan of tortured metal, the entire stack collapsed. Dust billowed, obscuring the street. A chorus of angry shouts erupted from the scavengers, followed by the clatter of dropped weapons. “Go!” Xylo-7 commanded, already moving, her movements fluid and efficient as she navigated the debris. Kaelen followed, his injured side protesting with every jarring step. They sprinted past the skeletal remains of what might have been a bus, its windows shattered, its interior a nest of wires. Another scavenger, surprisingly agile, burst through the dust. It lunged, its rebar club whistling towards Kaelen’s head. Xylo-7 was faster. Her energy pistol barked once, a focused crimson bolt striking the scavenger's chest. It crumpled, a small plume of acrid smoke rising from its crude armor. “Don’t get sloppy, Thorne,” she snapped, not breaking stride. “They’re not all brain-dead.” They plunged into the mouth of a darkened alleyway, the air suddenly cooler, heavier. Water dripped from unseen pipes, creating slick puddles on the uneven ground. Ahead, a grimy sign promised

Chapter 3: Alliance of Rivals