RONAN Clothes came off fast and went straight into the trash can. Everything except the underwear and socks. Those were shaken hard, snapped, checked twice. Skin burned and itched everywhere, covered in small red welts that throbbed when touched. The crawling feeling still lingered, even though the ants were gone. Fingers moved to the bandage at the temple. The edge was peeled back just enough to check. No fresh blood. Relief came sharp and brief, followed by a dull ache beneath the wrap. The bandage would need changing before the day was done or infection would set in, but it would hold for now. New shorts went on first. Shoes followed right after. Safety mattered more than comfort, and bare feet were not an option.Halfway into the tourist shirt, the door chime rang. The shirt slid the rest of the way down as the body moved on instinct. Steps carried me to the door without thought. A quick glance through the glass caught it. Just a moment. Just enough. The back of a drone’s head. Black. Smooth. Unmarked. It walked down the aisles toward the narrow stretch of floor beside the coolers that led to the restrooms. Legs moved before thought caught up. One second stood in the doorway. The next stayed as low as possible, slipping through without opening the door any wider. Every muscle locked tight, focused on reaching the far side of the nearest shelf aisle, the only thing blocking the machine’s view. A sharp turn near the registers followed. Heavy footfalls entered the aisle just left behind, slow and steady, each step confident. No pause. No listening to confirm where it went. A straight sprint to the exit. The door burst open. The chime stayed silent. A breathless laugh almost escaped before it could be stopped. Church would be attended every day if survival lasted long enough to make good on that promise. The dumpster came into view behind the store. Hands grabbed the bike and hauled it free. A hard spin on the rear wheel. A jump onto the seat that barely settled before motion took over. Pedals turned with everything left in reserve. Speed mattered more than balance. Direction stayed the same because stopping meant dying. Five minutes passed. Thighs screamed like they were tearing apart. Lungs burned with every pull of air. Sweat poured off the forehead like a light rain, stinging the eyes. A glance back risked balance. The head snapped forward again at once, body folding low over the handlebars. “Go fuck yourselves, legs. Burn.”The rise ahead crested. On the other side, the drone ran toward me. Arms and legs moved with perfect rhythm. Smooth. Efficient. Wrong in every way. The whine of servos might have been real or just fear filling the silence. It did not matter. Escape demanded everything. Still, it gained ground. Questions flooded in fast and useless. Tracking made no sense. All equipment stayed in safe mode. No transmissions. No signal leaving my gear. How did it know about the store. The restroom. The exact direction of escape. Any angle had been possible. Three hundred and sixty degrees of uncertainty, yet it chose right. Street lamp heads lined the Interlink Highway in peripheral vision, evenly spaced and watching. “Son of a bitch. It’s patched into the local cameras.” Traffic monitors lived inside those lamps. Data fed local controllers to manage vehicle flow. The store had cameras too. Almost every place did. There was nowhere left unseen. The real question cut deeper. Why chase me. Why had the drones gone straight for my section at the agency, ignoring so many others. Someone gave orders. Someone wanted me removed. People with my skills stood in the way of unopposed AI control, and that made us targets. None of that mattered without survival. Another look back showed detail now. No longer a distant shape. Scuffed armor. Pockmarks across its frame. A machine that had fought before and kept going. An idea formed. Dangerous. Desperate. No reason left to avoid risk. A minute more and it would reach me. No fight could be won on open pavement. Ahead lay an emergency cut through the median growth. Built for law enforcement access between Upperbound Lane and Lowerbound Lane of the Interlink Highway. Paramilitaries worked the far side, running a search pattern. If instincts were right, they were not aligned with whoever controlled the drones. That difference could be exploited. If wrong, the pain in my legs would stop forever. The bike veered left. Tires bounced over the road lip into the median depression, barely holding traction. The seat jumped hard and slammed into the tailbone. Teeth clenched to keep a yell inside. Oxygen mattered too much to waste. The dirt path punished every bump. Each jolt sent pain shooting upward through bone and spine. Sitting would be impossible for a week. That future sounded wonderful if it meant there was still a future. Momentum carried me up the opposite incline and onto the far side of the Interlink Highway. This was their side now. The paramilitaries’ search zone.No idea where they were. No time to look. A gamble followed. On foot meant slower movement. A hard left turn came fast. Every last drop of strength poured into the pedals. The drone stayed close. Yards now. Footfalls landed with perfect spacing, mechanical and relentless. Louder than the hum of tires. Louder than the grind of gears. An automated shipping container lay tipped across the road ahead, nearly blocking it. Fear spiked at the sight. Same type that had once spilled dozens of drones at the facility. Relief followed just as fast. Empty. Whatever had been inside was already gone. A sharp turn around its corner threw me into a maze of abandoned cars. Balance wavered. Tires slipped. Near crashes piled up one after another. Skill stretched past its limit as metal flashed inches away. The drone crashed around the container behind me, closing again.Then the figures appeared. Black armor among bright, abandoned vehicles. Methodical movement. Weapons ready and steady. Eyes checked every window, every door, hunting for ambush. The drone closed in behind. Close enough to imagine cold fingers brushing my back, ready to tear me free. Speed carried me straight toward them. A man at point saw me. “Contact front. It’s him.” The rifle snapped up without hesitation. Hands yanked the handlebars hard to the right. The bike tipped. Balance vanished in an instant. The fall began just as the rifle fired. The ground hit hard. Momentum dragged me forward. One leg tangled beneath the bike, twisting painfully.Pain exploded up the leg and into my back. Asphalt tore skin through thin tourist shorts, burning deep. Teeth slammed together. Head whipped back and barely missed cracking the road. A twist of the body brought sight back in time. Less than ten yards away, the drone took the rifle round square in the right shoulder.