Jake settled into the seat as the driverless craft surged upward, merging seamlessly into the designated aerial lane two hundred meters above ground.
Countless anti-gravity vehicles streaked across the sky like metallic fireflies, weaving through the air in chaotic harmony.
Jake suddenly realized he had never truly observed this world—not with the eyes of someone who belonged to it. Everything now seemed... strangely fascinating.
Just as he leaned forward, gazing down at the cityscape with rare attentiveness, his focus slipped for a moment.
'BOOM!!!'
A deafening explosion erupted roughly five hundred meters away. One of the airborne vehicles had been reduced to a blazing fireball.
The shockwave hurled the inferno sideways, slamming it into a nearby civilian craft. Both vessels spiraled downward in a trail of smoke and flame.
From within the falling blaze, a figure burst forth—just a flicker against the smoke-choked sky.
Beneath his feet, a board-like construct materialized, propelling him forward in a serpentine dash... straight toward Jake.
Behind him, two compact pursuit ships zipped into view, unleashing a hail of bullets with sharp, rhythmic bursts—da-da-da-da.
However, the projectiles weren't plasma bolts, but rather antiquated machine-gun bullets.
This long-obsolete ammunition was largely incapable of killing modern humans; its purpose was more for disruption or simply knocking targets out of the sky.
Puff-puff-puff—visible sparks burst across that figure's armor.
Though the impacts were absorbed by his suit, the force still knocked him off balance, nearly sending him tumbling from his hoverboard.
Tat-tat-tat—another wave of concentrated fire tore through the air, clearly intended to bring him down.
But that figure twisted midair, executing a slide-drift maneuver that brought him dangerously close to the orbital lane where the ChickRun Express was speeding forward.
At that moment, the rail beneath the ChickRun Express flared crimson, and a shrill warning blared across the system:
"This is a ChickRun Express exclusive lane. Intruders will be deemed hostile. Proceed at your own risk. Proceed at your own risk."
With a sharp hiss, several armed drones launched from hidden compartments, instantly sealing off the segment of track where Jake's vehicle was located.
The two pursuing ships, seemingly wary of the ChickRun Express's automated defenses, ceased fire—but their pursuit speed surged.
Yet that figure accelerated, charging straight toward the restricted lane.
And just as he was about to breach the crimson perimeter—he slammed the brakes. In that instant, the gap between him and the two ships collapsed.
With a sudden aerial twist, the man spun into a full 180-degree rotation—head down, feet up—his body contorting like a braided whip.
His scalp skimmed the ChickRun Express rail, and with a reverse grip, he drew twin pistols.
Puff-puff—two shots rang out. Not antique slugs this time, but blazing plasma rounds.
Even as the crowd of airborne onlookers gasped at his acrobatic finesse, two fireballs erupted midair.
The explosions were precise—just far enough to spare the ChickRun Express track.
The entire sequence unfolded in mere milliseconds.
At that breakneck speed, the man flipped over Jake Nickelson's cabin, locking eyes with Jake through the cockpit window—and winked.
"Swoosh!" With a flourish, he spun midair and shouted: "Remember this name—Yura! Hahaha!"
His laughter echoed as he vanished into the sky.
The passersby barely reacted. A chuckle here, a shrug there. They resumed their flight paths—after all, it wasn't them who died.
In the Outer City of sanctuary 79, life-and-death skirmishes like this were routine. Constant.
Every Outer City surrounding a Sanctuary was a semi-lawless zone. Aside from a few officially protected areas, power ruled. Whoever had the bigger fist, made the rules.
It was Jake Nickelson's first time witnessing a skirmish from such close range.
In the past, he couldn't afford official aerial transport—he'd always watched from the ground, peering through a secondhand telescope.
So while the ChickRun Express was expensive, Jake found it worth every credit. He had no intention of becoming collateral damage on his way home.
Though he had awakened the soul of an Archon, his physical body remained that of a mundane.
At this altitude, a fall would be fatal—no deity could save him from that.
ChickRun Express, the government-run autonomous taxi service, was notorious for draining the hard-earned wages of bottom-tier workers like him. Yet people still paid.
Why? One word: safety.
Jake looked up at the vast sky, then clenched his fist. "Even if I must rebuild from scratch, I will stand at the pinnacle of this world."
He needed to get home. To sort everything out.
Fortunately, the rest of the ride passed without incident. About ten minutes later, Jake spotted the familiar cylindrical high-rise.
Its design resembled a massive honeycomb—rows upon rows of densely packed cubicles stacked into a towering column.
Like bees returning to the hive, people entered from the sky, one after another.
The vehicle hovered to a stop outside a unit on the 19th floor.
A docking corridor extended from its hull, locking seamlessly onto the apartment's floor-to-ceiling window.
Jake Nickelson tapped a few points on his forearm. With a soft hiss, a doorway shimmered into existence across the glass.
He stepped through—and the moment he did, the door vanished. The window remained, pristine and untouched, as if nothing had ever changed.
"Thank you for riding the ChickRun Express! Don't forget to leave a five-star review, sweetie!" chirped the system voice. The vehicle retracted its docking bridge and peeled away from the tower.
Back in his apartment—a modest one-bedroom unit—Jake felt as though he'd stepped into a memory.
The space was familiar, but distant, like a photograph from another life.
Suddenly!
Bang!!!
A wave of vertigo surged through him, immense and sudden.
A voice followed—deep, resonant, like a temple bell struck by thunder.
Jake felt his consciousness ripped from his body. Darkness swallowed his vision. He collapsed onto the living room sofa, unconscious.