The paralysis wave didn't take hold.
It slipped.
Leo felt it as a rush of dry ice climbing his legs.
But where the tip of his metal pipe met the crack in the concrete—the crack aligned with the Shop's pulsing glitch-line—something broke sideways.
The blue energy bent.
It was pulled into the fissure like water down a drain.
Leo's foot buzzed violently, pins and fire at once.
But it obeyed when he threw himself backward.
Roderick didn't look surprised. Annoyed, maybe.
A deviation from expected protocol.
He didn't give chase.
His finger touched his temple, activating an interface command.
His voice was clear, projected.
"Tango Unit to Control. Target Zero confirmed at Grid G-7. Initial containment, Alpha Protocol, unsuccessful. Target displays anomalous interference with low-level energy emissions. Probable interaction with environmental artifact."
He listened for a beat, eyes locked on Leo.
"Affirmative. Initiating Protocol Hunt. Containment priority. Lethal damage authorized if escape appears imminent. Broadcasting live position to all sector assets."
His finger left his temple.
He stepped forward, not a rush, just a measured stride.
The containment device went back into its holster.
From a rig on his back, he drew something else.
A compact weapon, short and thick-barreled, matte gray.
A real gun.
"You've upgraded the transaction value, Anomaly-Zero," Roderick said calmly.
"Data on how you neutralized a containment charge qualifies for research bonus points. But the protocol is now explicit."
Leo didn't wait for more.
He turned and ran—an agonized stagger toward the dark mouth of a passage.
The Eclésia Mall was dead.
Luxury storefronts sat dark or looted.
The air smelled of evaporated perfume and damp concrete.
At the center of the atrium, a circular fountain lay dry.
Leo stumbled through the food court.
Each step stabbed his chest.
He glanced back.
Roderick entered the atrium.
He didn't hurry. He walked to the center, near the dry fountain, and stopped.
"Target moving toward northwest sector of atrium, ground level," he reported, his voice echoing lightly.
"Estimated speed severely compromised. Injury to left lower limb confirmed. Coordinating blockage of north and east access points."
He wasn't talking to Leo. He was arranging a box.
Leo forced himself up a dead escalator.
The upper level opened into a fashion plaza.
He ducked behind an abandoned ice cream kiosk, gasping.
Roderick's voice came again, clear and amplified.
"Anomaly-Zero. Your escape is a cost–benefit calculation with known variables. Your speed: low. Your physical condition: deteriorating. My resources: the entire district. Surrender reduces unnecessary suffering. For both of us."
Leo didn't answer.
His eyes scanned the upper level.
Then he saw the fountain.
Not the one below. Another one, identical, at the far end.
Dry. Wrong.
The familiar pressure bloomed behind his eyes.
He focused on the distant fountain.
Nothing. Stone. Coins.
He looked back down at the original fountain.
Roderick stood beside it, consulting his interface.
And then Leo saw it.
A line.
Thin, nearly invisible.
A ribbon of silvery distortion rising from the center of the dry fountain below.
Connecting to a decorative lamppost on the upper level, directly above where Roderick stood.
The line flickered.
For a second, the fountain below and the lamppost above pulsed together.
Understanding hit like lightning.
The System optimized.
A duplicated object. An asset error.
A database shortcut no one would ever notice.
And where there was a duplicated object with a persistent glitch, there could be shared physics.
A fault line.
Roderick started up the dead escalator, steps steady.
"Northwest sector closing in ninety seconds," he said to the air.
Leo stepped out from behind the kiosk.
Not fleeing. Moving toward the lamppost.
He staggered across the fashion plaza, ignoring the pain.
The post was bolted into the marble floor.
The glitch-line climbed it, vibrating.
Roderick reached the upper level.
He saw Leo. His gun came up, precise.
"Stop. This is the final offer."
Leo didn't stop.
He reached the post. His shaking hands closed around cold iron.
He looked down, across the atrium void, to the fountain below.
Roderick was now twenty meters away, advancing, gun steady.
"I understand," Roderick said, a note of professional disappointment in his voice.
"You're choosing the unfavorable datum."
His finger began to tighten on the trigger.
Leo didn't dodge.
With a final groan of effort, he shoved the lamppost sideways.
The iron post didn't move smoothly.
It jerked. Its motion was frictionless and wrong.
And at the dry fountain in the atrium, directly beneath where the post should have been, the stone and coins… pinched.
A heavy static pop.
Then gravity, confused, made its ruling.
The lamppost tipped over the edge of the atrium.
Twisting, cast iron and glass spinning.
Straight through Roderick's path.
The agent reacted fast.
He dove backward, shot aborted, gun slipping from his hands.
The post clipped his leg, metal screeching against tactical fabric.
It hit the marble floor with a crash that shook the level, the glass globe exploding.
Roderick dropped to one knee, a grunt of sharp surprise tearing out of him.
His leg was twisted. Not broken. But bad.
His gun slid out of reach, clattering down the escalator.
He looked up at Leo.
For the first time, the professional shell cracked.
Into raw, focused frustration.
"Control," he rasped, touching his temple again.
"Target engaging environment in a… creative manner. Minor damage sustained. Requesting—"
He didn't finish.
From the department store with the broken metal shutter, someone stepped out.
A thin man with wild eyes, gripping a metal clothing rack.
A low-rank hunter, drawn by noise.
He saw Roderick kneeling. Saw Leo behind the column.
His gaze bounced between them, calculating.
Then he saw the red point on his own HUD.
With a guttural shout of pure opportunism, he charged.
Not at Roderick.
Straight at Leo, rack raised for a sweeping blow.
Leo, pinned between the column, the oncoming hunter, and the wounded agent, had no more scenery to break.
All he had was marble under his feet.
The sound of his own ragged breathing.
And the sight of the hunter closing in.
Behind the hunter, Roderick hauled himself upright, limping, his face set in cold fury as he searched the floor for his gun.