He worked frantically, jamming bloodied fingers into the rubble again and again. Slivers of pain jabbed up his arms from his broken nails, but he paid little care. He threw all his strength into his task, grasping chunks of rock and concrete and yanking them free. The loose pieces he freed were tossed over a shoulder.

His headlamp flickered weakly, dimming as its battery nearly gave up. There was barely enough light to see what he was doing, and within minutes, there would be no light at all.

Tarrod gritted his teeth, biting back a curse. He was running out of time.

It had been several minutes since the tunnel's ceiling caved in. The tunnels ran for miles beneath Shann Tei, having once formed expansive waterways. They had appeared to have been a perfect hiding place, but Tarrod now regretted it.

When the war machines came and thumped about above, many of the waterways had collapsed, one after the other. A horrible nightmare, in which there was a minimal chance of escape. How many of the Crossfires had been crushed alive? How many of them remained trapped amidst rubble, never to be found?

Tarrod wiped away the sweaty grime from his face, though his efforts only succeeded in smearing blood. I won't let you die here! He leaned forward, and tore into the rubble once more.

What was left of his nails splintered and tore away, and his fingers lost most of their skin. He grunted, refusing to let up. "Leyrone! Leyrone, can you hear me?" He shouted, then strained to listen even as he tossed pieces of concrete behind him. More skittered down from above to take their place.

"Leyrone!" His hands grabbed the loose pieces almost savagely, throwing them out of the way. The light flickered, briefly blinking off as it nearly gave out. For a short second, he was left in utter darkness. Blind. Alone.

Shivering, he froze, goosebumps raising on his skin despite the hot, stuffy air. The sound of his harsh panting filled his ears, unusually loud.

Then his headlamp came back on, weaker than ever. But it was light, and he found himself breathing a sigh of relief. Yet, the goosebumps did not fade. Leyrone was still trapped in the rubble.

What if he's dead?

No. No. That was not an option. He leaned in, placing his face right next to the cold concrete. "Leyrone! C'mon, buddy. . . .if you can hear me, please make some noise. Please. "

His fingers throbbed painfully, seeming to hurt more now that he wasn't using them. He stopped breathing, straining to listen, to hear anything out of the ordinary. Moments stretched on, slipping into minutes and hours and an eternity, all in the space of a mere second as his hope built up and teetered on the edge, waiting. . . .waiting.

And then it came, a faint scratching sound, originating from within the rubble. He pressed closer, heart skipping a beat. "Leyrone? Leyrone! Is that you?"

A faint groan, muffled and weak.

"Leyrone!" Tarrod tore into the pile with renewed strength, blood roaring through his veins. His hands grasped about, grabbing all and any loose rocks and tossing them aside. He was a flurry of frenzied motion, raising dust and raining crumbling concrete all around. And suddenly, he saw twitching fingers, a hand, a wrist, still warm and very much alive.

He reached out, took hold of the wrist with both of his hands, and tugged. The light went out. He blinked in the darkness, pausing for a brief second. The light did not come back on. This was it, then. They were in the dark, now.

At the moment, he hardly cared. What mattered was the hand he held, and sucking a huge breath, he pulled with all of his strength, forgetting about everything but the life he held in his hands. A low moan came from the rubble, sounding in his ears like the sweetest music he'd ever heard.

Digging his feet into the ground, he arched backwards, clenching his teeth and squeezing shut his eyes; he pulled hard. Leyrone's body held fast at first, then shifted slightly. With one violent tug, Tarrod pulled his friend free. They both flopped to the ground in a breathless, exhausted heap.

Leyrone lay across Tarrod's legs, sucking in air like a starving man. The only sound in the dark was of their heavy breathing.

Finally, Tarrod spoke. "Leyrone?"

"Uuh?

"You okay?"

Leyrone's voice was weak, strained. "I think my leg's broke. But yeah. . . I'm alive."

"'S good. . ." A relieved laugh slipped past Tarrod's throat, small and shaky. He trembled, an afterwake from panicked exhertion.

They lay in silence, letting their breathing settle into a slow, even rhythm. Tarrod found himself wondering about his brother, and whether if he made it out of the underground passageways. His brother was smart; surely he'd managed to escape. Tarrod blinked slowly, pushing those thoughts away. Instead, he marvelled at how his eyes were open, yet he still saw nothing but darkness.

"Hey, boss?"

"Yeah?" He lifted his head, intending to look at his friend, only to shiver as solid black greeted his eyes.

"We should . . . get outta here."

"Yeah." Tarrod wanted to sleep, but he knew that was not an option. Everything was still unstable, and more collapses could occur at any moment. Every prolonged moment meant a higher risk that they wouldn't make it out.

He slowly sat up, feeling for his friend's arm. "C'mon. You can lean on me. Let's get out of this place."

xxx

Jett swung his leg absently, kicking his foot against the side of the building. He took a bite out of his ration bar, then wrinkled his nose at the taste. Even though he'd eaten hundreds of the things, the taste was not something he could get used to. It was like muddy sand, he decided.

Muddy, stale sand.

A hoarse croon drew his attention to Ravia, who stood on the roof's surface next to him. She stretched out her head, tilting it a little as she eyed the ration bar. Jett presses his lips together.

"No, Ravia. It's mine – I don't have anything else to eat."

Ravia waddled a few steps closer. She watched the bar in his hands with gleaming eyes. Her beak opened slightly.

Jett scowled. "Okay, fine." He broke a chunk off the bar, then tossed it to the raven. She snapped it out of the air easily. As she gulped it down, three other ravens swooped down, cawing loudly. They crowded in close, emitting identical croaks.

He sighed, then broke the rest of his meal into small pieces. He tossed them at the ravens, watching how his second-last ration bar disappeared. It didn't even last three seconds.

A small smile crossed his face as he observed the birds. They were free creatures with no worries, no responsibilities – their existence was a simple thing. Their only purpose in life was to live. To be free.

He reached out a hand; the three youngsters shied away from his touch, but didn't fly away. They were already used to his presence, even welcoming it. Completely unlike the people below.

Jett swung his other leg over the roof's edge, and leant forward to peer down at the city. The building he perched on was only twenty stories high, so he was still able to make out the movements of people below. There weren't many. The War Machines had effectively destroyed most of Shann Tei, and its inhabitants along with it.

He bit his lip, his hands tightening around the roof's edge. Even from this distance, he could make them out. Wandering from the wreckage, stumbling around in a daze, digging frantically in the rubble of fallen buildings, hopelessly sitting in the dirt, because they've lost everything and everyone.

And there was nothing he could do.

Ravia landed on his head, her sharp talons digging into his scalp. He ignored her, searching the streets below for any clue as to what he should do. He couldn't stay on the roofs for much longer; his supply of water and ration bars was almost gone. Sooner or later, he was going to have to go down.

What should I do? What should I do?!

Ravia grabbed a lock of his hair and tugged.

"Ow!" The sharp pain jerked him out of his thoughts, and he shot up a hand to free his poor hair. The raven refused to let go, so Jett began a tug of war with her. "Come on, Ravia. . .let go!" With a squawk, she finally released her hold. Seeming pleased with her distraction, she fluffed her feathers proudly.

Jett huffed, returning his attention back to the city. He panned over Shann Tei, focusing as far as his vision could make out. Smoke still rose from the city in towering plumes, reaching up to entwine with the clouds. The air was hazy with the misty pollution, but it had thinned out enough that he could breathe without his helmet's filters.

He looked directly beneath his building, where a piece of concrete had smashed into the street, scattering into smaller pieces over the pavement. As he observed, one of the concrete blocks shifted. Jett blinked, leaning forward slightly.

The large block shifted again, then tumbled over onto its side, revealing a hole in the road. He blinked, then stared. "Huh?" A hole? In the middle of the road? What was it doing there? It was too small and perfectly round to be caused by the Machines. . .

A head popped out of the hole, followed by a dusty body. Once out, the person turned and knelt on the road to help the next person out. Thoroughly intrigued, Jett brought out his helmet, Ravia squawking indignantly as she was forced to leave her perch. Using it's zooming capabilities, he was able to get a close view of what was going on.

There were only two of them. It took the second person twice as long to climb out of the hole, and once he made it out, Jett could see why. One of his legs was mangled, twisted and covered in dark blood. As soon as he made it out, the injured person collapsed onto the street, face ashen. His friend immediately knelt by his side, speaking to him.

"Why were they underground?" Jett mused aloud, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Did they fall down there? It must have been when the Machines attacked, he figured. And they were only now making it back to the surface. However, that didn't explain the hole they were climbing out of.

Then he noticed that more people were coming out of the ruins, running towards the two who had just came from underground. Jett zoomed in on them curiously, exhaling softly as he realized that something about them were familiar.

Familiar. . .something about them was all the same; he'd seen it before. Just what was -

His eyes widened. "Ah!" Nearly all of them had a piece of red material tied around their left arm. "The Crossfires!" He'd run into them before, several months back.

Jett turned his attention back to the two who had just climbed out of the hole. Now that he knew who they were related to, he recognized one of them.

He stared at theat the strange, livid scar that stood out on the pale face."You. You're one of them."

The white flyer smiled wistfully. He remembered, now.

"I ran away," He desperately threw out, forcing his raw throat to cough up sound. "I'm never going back. And - and they can't track me, because I ripped it off - "

Tarrod had been his name. He was the leader of a small teen gang, which was a tamer off-shoot of the Crossfires, which his older brother led. He was a tough guy, having the guts to bring in a half-dead flyer trainee.

Perhaps, if they've helped him then, they'd help him now. Only this time, he wasn't a mere trainee. Jett watched them crowd around Tarrod and his friend, clearly happy that they made it to the surface.

It was worth a shot.

Jett leaned forward, and let gravity take him from the building. The wind buffeted him warmly, swirling past his small frame. He extended his arms. "Ala." His wings shot out, abruptly slowing his fall to a graceful glide.

The white flyer's flight was so silent, the crowd of people didn't know he was there until he was nearly upon them. He touched down softly in their midst, his wings slipping away.

With startled shouts of alarm, the Crossfires surged backwards, creating a ring of open space between them and him. Jett looked down to his right, where Tarrod still knelt by his injured friend. The teen was watching him with narrowed eyes, every muscle in his face taut with tension.

Jett lifted a hand; instantly, the gang members surrounding him went on the defensive, some gripping guns at their sides, others readying fists. Unlike the others, these people would resort to far more deadly objects than rocks. Slowly, he tapped his throat, very aware of the hostilily. Oh boy. This could turn bad very fast.

His helmet disappeared, leaving his face bare. With his raised hand, he gave a little wave, and pasted on a nervous smile. "Hello."