A faint hum buzzed in her ears. The fox girl's eyes fluttered open to a pale, washed-out sky framed by towering buildings. The world felt soft and distant, like looking through static on an old television.

Her body was heavy, limbs stiff as if she'd been asleep for a long time. She blinked against the brightening light, trying to make sense of where she was.

A cool breeze brushed past her, carrying the mingled scents of rain-soaked concrete and distant street food. Somewhere far below, a soft murmur of voices rose with the city's slow awakening.

She shifted, head pounding with a dull ache. The bandage wrapped tightly around one ear itched against her fur. Another wrapped around her arm tugged uncomfortably as she moved.

Her fingers twitched — but then her vision flickered, colors bending and warping like a broken broadcast. A strange static crackled faintly, and the sounds around her warped for a heartbeat.

She blinked again. No one else seemed to notice.

The red and blue strands of hair slipped over one eye as she sat up slowly on the cracked rooftop beneath her. A chill ran through her as she scanned the city stretching endlessly in every direction.

Glass towers reached toward the sky, digital billboards blinking and glowing with flickering colors. Old brick buildings and narrow alleys crisscrossed beneath the neon glow. The city was alive — vast, mysterious, and overwhelming.

Her gaze caught a flicker in a nearby screen — a billboard's image distorted for a moment, then snapped back into focus. The pulse of the city felt electric, buzzing beneath her skin.

She turned to the glass door behind her, catching her reflection. Pale white fur framed her face, the sharp contrast of her red and blue hair spilling over one eye. One eye glowed deep red, the other a bright sapphire.

On her dark hoodie, stitched boldly into the sleeve, was the number "9."

She didn't know what it meant. She didn't know who she was.

But somewhere deep inside, a question stirred — a spark of something waiting to be found.

She eased herself off the rooftop, fingers curling around the rusted metal ladder. Each step down was slow and deliberate, her boots tapping softly against the cold metal rungs. The city's hum grew louder with every level she descended, a symphony of distant voices, motors, and flickering lights.

At street level, the air was cooler, tinged with the smell of rain on asphalt and faint hints of grilled food. Neon signs buzzed quietly, reflecting off wet pavement. She wandered forward, drawn by the flickering glow of shop windows lining the narrow street.

Through the glass, mannequins stood frozen in posed silence beneath rows of softly glowing clothes racks. Posters plastered with vibrant colors and foreign words peeled from the walls. A small convenience store's TV played a local news broadcast, images flickering between anchors and static.

Curious, the fox girl reached out, her fingers brushing the glass of the nearest window. A sudden jolt pulsed through her palm, sharp and electric, as the TV inside suddenly flickered violently—images breaking apart, colors scrambling and warping with glitchy distortions.

Her hand jerked back, trembling, as the broadcast on every nearby screen erupted into static, screens flickering wildly before snapping back to normal.

She blinked, heart pounding. Had she done that? Was it her?

Confusion and fear tangled in her chest. She swallowed hard, glancing around as people passed by unaware of the strange interference.

Her gaze dropped to her bandaged arm — a faint, pulsing warmth spread beneath the cloth.

She took a shaky breath and whispered, "What... what is happening to me?"

The strange burst of energy left her shaken, but curiosity propelled her forward. She moved quickly now, feet barely touching the wet pavement as the city's heartbeat pulsed all around her.

People streamed past in waves—businessmen in suits, teenagers with headphones, street vendors shouting their wares. She stumbled, bumping into a man who barely glanced back. "Sorry," she whispered, cheeks burning.

Her pace quickened, shoulders tense as the crowd pressed in. Neon signs flickered above, painting faces and buildings in vibrant blues and pinks. The noise swelled—snatches of conversation, the distant rumble of trains, the blare of car horns.

Her eyes darted upward and froze.

Massive screens loomed above the streets—towering billboards alive with swirling colors and flashing images. Advertisements shifted rapidly: sleek cars, flashing logos, dazzling music videos. The light washed over her, making her skin prickle and her heart race.

She stood still, mouth slightly open, caught between awe and apprehension.

Somewhere deep in her mind, the echoes of Patch stirred—watchful, silent.

She swallowed hard and glanced around nervously. The city was beautiful and overwhelming. She didn't belong here—but neither did the fear that crawled beneath her skin.

The vibrant glow of the city was suddenly pierced by a new sound — a heavy, mechanical clanking echoing against the narrow streets. Her eyes darted behind her.

Emerging from the shadows, two tall figures moved with unnatural precision. Black armor gleamed beneath the neon lights, glossy helmets reflecting the cityscape. Their footsteps hammered like synchronized drums, metal plating scraping with each step.

She froze, confusion knotting her stomach.

What were they?

One of the figures reached out, fingers curling into a grasping claw aimed at her.

Instinct flared. The fox's hand twitched, and the air around her shimmered like a broken signal. The mechanical hand froze mid-air, flickering with sparks as the entire arm twitched violently—then went limp.

The second figure's visor flared red. A cold, mechanical voice hissed, "Target hostile. Engage."

Her heart slammed against her ribs as more figures emerged behind the first two, their movements stiff and relentless.

No time to think.

She sprinted forward, pushing through startled pedestrians. People gasped and scrambled out of her way as she barreled through the street, cars screeching to halts, engines idling in confusion.

She twisted and turned through the maze of alleyways, breaths ragged, every pounding footstep behind her.

But the alleys grew narrower, shadows closing in.

She skidded to a stop at a dead end, heart hammering.

The bots closed in, black arms extending—small tasers sparking to life from embedded gauntlets.

Trapped.

Her back hit the cold brick wall. Her grip tightened around the rusted metal pipe she'd snatched from the alley floor — it trembled in her hands as the black-armored figures advanced, tasers sparking with blue light.

One of them raised its arm to strike.

CLANG.

Something dropped onto the fire escape above her. A voice rang out:
"Hey! You wanna live?! Grab on!"

She looked up to see a boy crouched above — scruffy black fur, a red scarf flapping in the wind, and orange eyes wide with urgency. One paw reached down.

No time to question.

She dropped the pipe and leapt, grabbing his hand. With a grunt, he pulled her up and onto the shaky metal steps.

"Climb!" he ordered, already scrambling upward. "Move, now!"

She didn't argue.

Below, the robots began climbing too — swift and mechanical, their heavy boots rattling the stairs.

At the top, she staggered onto the rooftop, gasping, dizzy.

The boy threw off his backpack and unlatched a metal case strapped to it. With a few practiced motions, it unfolded with a hiss and clank into a wide metal board lined with vents and rusted plating.

He jumped on and looked back at her. "Get on!"

"What—what is this?!"

"Explanation later. Now!"

Still dazed, she lunged onto the board and instinctively grabbed hold of him from behind, arms locking tightly around his chest.

The board hovered for a breathless second.

Then whoosh—they shot forward, wind tearing past her face, rooftops blurring beneath them.

She clung tighter as they bounced from rooftop to rooftop. The boy adjusted his stance expertly, keeping them steady while the city lights became a rushing blur around them.

Crystal dared a glance back — and her blood ran cold.

Wings.

The robot drone's had sprouted black, angular wings from their backs, jetting after them with cold precision.

"They're flying!" she shouted.

"No kidding!" the boy yelled over his shoulder. "Why do you think I'm going this fast?!"

The board cut across another rooftop, barely clearing a metal AC unit. The fox held on for dear life, her arms wrapped tight around the boy's chest as the wind howled in her ears.

Behind them, the robots gained altitude, closing the distance with mechanical grace.

"They're catching up!" she shouted.

"Yeah, yeah—hang on!"

With one hand steering the board, the boy reached into his jacket and pulled out two cylindrical cans—spray paint, judging by the rattling inside.

The Girl blinked. "Wait—what are you—"

Ch-CHSHK! He shook both cans, twisted the caps off with his teeth, and then hurled them backward.

The cans clanked mid-air and burst just as the closest robots flew through. A blinding splash of neon red and yellow exploded across their visors — thick paint coating the sensors.

The bots spiraled wildly, crashing into a billboard with a shower of sparks. One bounced off a satellite dish and slammed into the building below with a metallic crunch.

The girl gasped. "You planned that?!"

"Nah," he said, grinning as he kicked the board's back panel. "I just do things that feel lucky."

Before she could process that, the board dipped.

"Wait—wait, what are you doing?!"

"We're going off-road!"

He yanked the board down toward the edge of the roof. The girl's stomach lurched as they plummeted into the alleyways below — the hoverboard adjusting instantly as they zipped between walls barely wider than the board itself.