The mont they realized she wasn’t anywhere near the bike, the SWAT unit shifted again.
Their training kicked in—asured, deliberate, precise.
Three of them stayed close to the motorcycle, scanning in circles with their weapons raised, covering all angles. The others spread out like wolves, disappearing into the tight lanes between trucks, moving thodically as they hunted a ghost.
Vanessa crouched low behind the rusted fra of a box truck, eyes calculating.
Three left.
That was all she needed.
If she took them out fast enough, she could get to the bike and ride. Once she hit the main road, traffic would shield her. A high-speed pursuit through the city would work in her favor—more noise, more people, more cover. She was done hiding in the shadows tonight.
A plan ford in seconds. Clean. Brutal. Necessary.
Then, with a soundless breath—
She vanished.
In a blink of dark shimr, she reappeared behind one of the n standing closest to the bike. He didn’t see it coming.
Her boot snapped forward, smashing into the side of his right knee with a sharp crack. He stumbled, the joint buckling instantly under the force. Before he could even cry out, her elbow swung in—driving toward his helt-covered skull. The blow thudded dully against the reinforced plating, not doing much, but it kept him disoriented. She spun, crouched slightly, and drove another kick into the narrow gap between his neck and chest armor. His body went rigid, then limp, collapsing with a muffled groan onto the pavent.
The other two reacted fast.
Too fast.
Muzzle flashes sparked, cutting through the dark.
But she was already gone.
The bullets cut through empty air where she had been a heartbeat before. She appeared again behind one of them—just inches from his back. Her hand closed around his neck, locking his throat in a tight grip. He tensed, instinctively trying to spin around, but then—
The third man opened fire again.
Vanessa’s eyes flicked to the muzzle flash just in ti.
She pivoted smoothly, dragging the man in her grip around like a shield. Bullets struck his vest in quick bursts—thump-thump-thump—the sound sickening against the armor. He grunted, pain radiating through him despite the protection.
Vanessa shoved him forward and vanished again before he hit the ground.
She reappeared a breath later—this ti beside the last shooter. He didn’t even have ti to flinch.
Her hand lashed out, fingers gripping the barrel of his rifle. She wrenched it from his hands with a twist, spinning it upward as she moved into his space. He grabbed at her wrist, but she slamd the butt of the rifle into his vest at point-blank range.
He let out a pained gasp, dropping to one knee.
Without hesitation, she flipped the weapon around and drove the thicker end hard into the side of his helt. The force cracked against the plating, knocking his head sideways. He collapsed with a heavy thud, dazed and breathless, alive—but montarily out of commission.
More footsteps echoed across the lot.
The rest of the team had heard the shots.
They were coming.
Vanessa glanced once toward the end of the alley, toward traffic, toward movent.
She had seconds, and that was all she needed.
She vanished and in a shimr of darkness, like a whisper torn from the night itself, she reappeared on her motorcycle—already running, already humming beneath her like it had never been left behind.
In one fluid motion, she gripped the handlebars, twisted the throttle, and the bike roared forward with a sharp snarl, tires screeching briefly as she launched out of the alley.
The city lights greeted her in a rush—blinding reds, neon blues, the blur of storefronts and passing headlights. She rged into traffic like a blade slipping into water, weaving effortlessly between cars, the wind tearing past her helt.
Behind her, the remaining SWAT team burst from the delivery zone, dragging their dazed and groaning comrades into the vehicles without hesitation. Orders were barked through comms. Boots pounded on concrete. In less than thirty seconds, the black van and both cars were back in motion, tires shrieking as they tore out of the alley and into the crowded street.
They weren’t subtle anymore.
They didn’t care.
Headlights flared. Horns blared as the unmarked vehicles shot into lanes without warning, ignoring signals, ignoring the lives of the civilians around them. Pedestrians jumped back onto sidewalks as one of the cars clipped a trash bin and sent it flying across the road. The black van surged ahead, tailing Vanessa’s route with reckless abandon.
She saw it in the mirror.
They were coming. Hard. Fast.
But this ti, they weren’t quiet professionals with a clean extraction in mind. This ti, they were desperate.
She knew that kind of pursuit. That kind of aggression ant soone was panicking.
And panicked n were dangerous.
The first shot cracked behind her. A suppressed round, but unmistakable. It zipped past her shoulder, striking the side mirror of a passing SUV, which exploded in a spray of shattered glass.
More followed. Controlled bursts—three, four shots. All aid for her.
Drivers scread and ducked. Cars swerved wildly. A taxi screeched to a stop, almost crashing into a delivery truck as another bullet ripped through its rear window.
Vanessa leaned into the bike, her body low, weaving through the chaos with unshakable precision. Every gap in traffic beca her path. Every opening a chance to gain ground.
But they were still there.
Close, too close.
She felt the heat building behind her from the pressure, from the madness of a unit that were desperate to stop her.
Another shot rang out—this one grazing the tail of her bike. Sparks danced along the pavent.
Then another shot, Vanessa felt it before she saw it—a sharp, sudden jolt beneath her.
The rear tire jerked violently to the side, rubber tearing with a guttural squeal as the bullet ripped through it. Her grip tightened instantly, muscles reacting faster than thought. The bike wobbled hard, rear wheel skidding, back end fishtailing in the narrow gap between speeding cars.
She leaned into it, trying to stabilize, another bullet struck. This one hit the front tire.
The front end buckled, the entire fra twisting as the force of montum threw the bike into a high-speed spiral. It tumbled forward, tal shrieking against asphalt, sparks flying like a shower of fireworks in the dark. Cars honked and swerved, brakes scread, tires smoked. Vanessa was airborne—caught in the violent pull of physics as her body left the tumbling machine.
But....She was already gone. In the half-second between the tire burst and the bike’s final death roll, she vanished mid-air.
And then....CRASH!
The windshield of the lead pursuit car broke as Vanessa appeared directly atop it. Glass burst in all directions, the kinetic force from her reappearance combined with her montum driving her boots through the tempered glass like it was paper. The driver had no chance. His head whipped back as her foot struck the side of his helt, smashing it against the door fra with a sickening crack. He slumped forward, unconscious or worse, hands falling from the wheel.
The car veered hard left, tires screeching as Vanessa rolled with the motion, using the sudden tilt to flip off the hood just before the vehicle slamd into a concrete divider. It spun wildly, knocking a parked delivery van off its wheels in a burst of crumpled tal and broken glass.
She landed on her feet, knees bent, absorbing the shock as vehicles swerved and chaos reigned around her.
No ti.
The van was behind her now—closer than ever.
She turned.
Its grille bore down on her like a charging beast, engine roaring, tires howling across the street. A second before it would’ve crushed her, she vanished again.
And reappeared on top of the van.
The roof shook beneath her weight. She dropped low, her palm slapping against the cool tal, knees bent. Beneath her, she could feel the vibration of shouting voices—commands being barked, panicked tones rising beneath the rumble of the van’s massive engine. She crawled toward the front, silent as a wraith, positioning herself just above the windshield.
The driver didn’t know she was there, not yet.
She rose and she slamd her boot down, once—hard.
The front of the van jerked as the windshield cracked beneath the sudden stomp. The driver cursed, looking up just in ti to see a shadow fall through the glass. Vanessa kicked again, this ti with both feet, and the windshield gave way entirely. She dropped feet-first through the opening, landing in the passenger seat with shards raining around her like hail.
The passenger beside the driver reached for his weapon, wide-eyed.
Too late.
She drove her elbow into his throat, silencing him before the scream left his mouth. His head smacked against the side panel as he collapsed in a choking heap.
The driver fumbled with the wheel, trying to steady the vehicle while reaching for the sidearm at his belt. Vanessa didn’t give him the chance. She reached across, grabbed the steering wheel, and yanked hard to the right, sending the van lurching into the next lane. Horns blared. Tires screeched. The van clipped the rear end of a sedan, spinning it out, but Vanessa was already moving.
She grabbed the back of the driver’s collar and yanked, pulling him halfway out of his seat. Her knee rose and struck the side of his helt—once, twice—until his grip loosened and his hands fell away from the wheel.
The van swerved again.
Vanessa dove into the driver’s seat, grabbing the wheel with both hands just as the van was about to mount the sidewalk. She twisted it sharply, barely keeping it from flipping.
For a mont, the chaos paused.
She exhaled, looking ahead through the cracked, blood-speckled windshield.
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