4:6:3

Closer to the surface there shone yellow light over the streets emitted from the yellow pores of the gray concrete towers. Perhaps there weren't many to enjoy the sight, for the streets were largely vacant other than a few brave souls who wandered about in heavy clothing, many of their bodies hidden with jackets and heads covered in hoods. They hurried about down the sidewalks and down the main roads, only distinguishable by color yet their function was same for there were no other vehicles visible that'd race in the main lanes.

The few wanderers were embellished with the yellow glow of the surface, but further up past the buildings themselves there was little light as there lacked a visible source of luminescence above. Where a sun should hover there instead was a blanket of dark fog, an invincible cloud that isolated the world from its orb of life.

Thus high up where there should be greater light there was instead darkness, up above where there should be no obstruction there was only shadow. In that shadow among the rooftops of the concrete blocks there lept a figure as black as the darkness, a silhouette in space only appearing for a moment before vanishing past the next ledge, not to be even perceived by those below.

Although there was more weight to the black backpack as told by its heavier shaking, speed was not a difficult achievement for the shadow who ran across the rooftop, for it was just as capable of vaulting over ventilation shafts and springing off of generators.

The additional weight also didn't prevent it from jumping onto the wall of the bulkhead and climbing up, using both hands and feet for they each were reinforced with sharp claws that could dig into the gray dirt enough to grant the needed stability for every vertical step.

Enough steps were made until the hands were able to grasp onto the ledge, and with a single clean pull up the shadow brought itself over the wall to immediately resume its run, one coupled with a bound that threw it over in a brief flight that gave great distance over the lower heights, flying past more shafts and doors as the claws were free not in a fist but in an open hand, letting every individual finger feel the breeze, the air passing through the gaps.

Although there was no visible gap or even translucent goggles to see through on the black mask whose only detailing were the separations of plates that composed the armor, there was definite vision given the seamless panning gaze of the city, a sense of the world's scale as the one being traveled through it in sprints and bounds. Emitted from the mask was also what sounded to be panting, yet there wasn't a human tone identifying a man or woman, instead the voice had a synthetic deepness and electric tone almost instrumental. The huffing was not excessive to the point of warranting concern, but extended periods of coursing through the city and combat against gunmen all whilst lugging metal weights on the back would eventually take its toll.

Still, there was a blissful grace in the movements of the shadow when it landed atop another bulkhead, rolling before springing back to the feet to slide off the top and drop down to the next level, using the hand to guide the fall but not needing to scrape the walls. Instead, all natural momentum drew it to the following surface where it was then followed by a charge onwards before jumping over more shafts, flipping such that it grabbed the metal surface with the claws to then thrust its own body with greater speed over, the backpack well strapped on even with all the flips.

With that speed it hurdled over the ledge and to the adjacent wall of the building several stories taller, but with a midair flip to orient the body facing the sky its feet landed on said wall and it began running up the building with the black hood sticking on. Swaying arms back and forth, the black shadow ran up the concrete floor in strides, claws clutching to the ground every step, pushing against its own weight with elegance until reaching the top where one step was taken angled at the edge so the shadow could rotate itself upright once more to keep running onwards.

Ahead the silhouette kept running with a low stance to garner speed, approaching the next vaults until all the several sudden distant gunshots caught its attention, and with the turn of the head the silhouette noticed yellow lights above the rooftops coming from afar, lights that flickered as lightning coupled with thunder.

In a murmur to the self, the electric voice anticipated: "A fight? Today's lucrative," before making a sharp turn from the previous wandering path now towards the flashing lights, the new path now goal oriented.

Jumping over the overhang onto the next top, there was an acceleration to the run, now a destination in mind with an appetite that drew in speed. Louder the gunshots became and brighter the lights, obstructed by the other buildings in the way but slowly becoming clearer. It was only several blocks away, and with just the open field of rooftops that was hardly a trip.

After bounding over another building, the shadow jumped up onto one of the many shafts of the next structure, all positioned in a broken grid but one tight enough that it was able to make strides on each shaft, every step making a harsh echo from the contact of metal especially with the hollowness of the surface.

Down the road of shafts the shadow dashed until reaching the end with a higher jump to take advantage of the slight altitude boost in order to reach the next bulkhead, able to instantly grab onto the ledge and throw itself up to continue.

Forth the shadow ran towards the distant rooftops of the large complex, thunderous shots paired with flashing lights, a hectic warzone and yet one so eagerly approached.

Closer to the battlegrounds, those gunshots were far clearer and far louder, a warning to scare off anyone whether it be intimidation to the direct targets or the byproduct of warding off any passerby. 

Those roars echoed far and wide, many blocks in all directions especially when made high up when there weren't many walls to absorb sound. Perhaps they could even be heard from the far distant buildings, the gray blocks not only of the immediate surrounding area but the ones so far they were obscured by the fog. 

In fact it couldn't be clear where the sound reached until as it likely went deep into the smog that plagued the city, especially its upper environment. For the higher up the city, the more the smoke intensified until reaching the blanket that had become the clouds. The result was an eerie backdrop to the world, buildings cast in darkness, only their yellow spots discerning their existence but even those lights bled with others. That was at least for those seen, as there were many more that couldn't be, for there was no visible boundary to a new biome.

But it wasn't from that faraway edge rather the nearby ledge that the being crept out from, throwing themselves up and sprinting straight forth, their arms swinging and metal clawed hands open as their black backpack jiggled from the movement.

Ahead the being vaulted on a tall ventilation bridge, pulling itself up again to spring off it towards one of two neighboring poles, kicking off one of them at an upwards angle before kicking off the next in a repetition that climbed them up until reaching the top where they gripped the edge and perched up.

Only one hand and one foot gripping the pole as the others just relaxed, the being through its flat black face devoid of human expression stared onwards, its electric huffing quieting down now that there was time to rest.

Yet that time would be brief, as the fixture of the shadow's gaze was on the rooftops ahead, for now there was a clear sight of the warzone ensuing: a large complex of adjoined rooftops albeit at various elevations in which clusters of men from just about every angle fired gunshots towards the center at a bulkhead where there was a smaller group of other gunmen taking cover with surrounding ventilation shafts, metal generators, poles, and anything else they could find as protection. Beside them was also a crate, but not one they used for cover rather one they seemed to be escorting judging by the way it was instead protected behind them.

There was true chaos, for the fighting only intensified as there were now more gunshots being fired, as despite all of the gunmen resorting to handguns the quantity of them allowed for constant rapid fire.

For there were many gunmen, and thus there were many weapons, tools, toys that the living silhouette tilted its head to in curiosity.

Only after a few seconds of analysis from a safe vantage point, it bounced off the pole again, but now in the direction of the action without hesitation.

At one specific top with a row of poles and stack of open vents jutting from the ground, there were three exact men all seemed to be middle aged judging by the roughness of their skin and recession of their hair. They were dressed not in mere rags but rather they had vests on, carrying magazines and canisters, for it was clear they were of a higher echelon than any street thug.

Their firearms were also noticeably larger, one hiding behind the vents carrying what resembled a Desert Eagle and the one at the very back past the poles wielding one reminiscent of a Magnum revolver.

The man behind the vents peeked out for a moment to fire off a triplet of shots, every one almost piercing his own ears, yet he held tightly such that the recoil was minimized.

After unloading, he then shouted in a gruff voice, "We can't let them get away, we should move in, suffocate the wind outta them!"

That command only seemed to land on one of the proximate allies though as the one with the Magnum was suddenly struck by a black bolt that dashed from the air, causing him to scream but only for a second before vanishing off the rooftop altogether.

That abrupt cry warranted a fearful glance back from the two gunners, the one in the middle hiding behind generators asking nervously, "Wait, Harold? Where you go man?"

Shifting his focus away from the main fight, the man lowered his weapon and began creeping towards the poles from which his ally vanished from while the man behind the vent fired a few more suppressive shots forward before turning back to order, "Hey get your focus back here-," as the stray abruptly shrieked as his body was suddenly launched off the ground and over the man whose head lifted to gaze at the supernatural sight, one invasive so suddenly yet experienced so fully that it felt as though that one second moment was stretched in magnitudes, the desperate wailing and flailing.

Such dreadful wonder concluded once the body passed the man, and with attention dialed up with an anxious boost, he turned around away from his main objective, just in time to perceive the figure emerging from below the generator, leaping with arms out and claws shimmering in the dim lighting.

"OH GOD-," cried out the old man while taking aim with his large handgun to fire on sight, only for that handgun to be pulled off him by the barrel, each of those black fingers far larger than man's own and with such greater tenacity as his body too was uplifted in a backwards flight as the other clawed hand gripped his collar.

"IT'S-!" the man attempted to exclaim before the black beast slammed its own head against his, immediately silencing him as they flew over the ledge before his limp body struck the concrete floor, sliding a few feet as ahead of him the larger rooftop lost attention from its former target as several more, about five men all hidden behind cover from the center of the action all turned around to the intruder.

Shaken up in terror as the previous screams seemed to pass over them due to the great booms blaring right into their ears, all of the men scrambled to change aim onto the new target; one of them– who looked to be in his middle twenties with a scruffy beard and lean body– bellowed out raspily, "THE MARAUDER'S AMBUSHING US!" before his comrades took fire, overpowering his alert.

There wouldn't have been much else to speak of from him however as he was immediately grabbed by the face in flight before the back of his head was slammed against the metal generators he had just used for shielding, and swiftly his weapon was plucked out of his weak fingers and plopped into the sack before the Marauder lept backwards with thrusted boots in evasion to a barrage of gunfire narrowly missing.

As orange fire flew past the Marauder, it quipped in its extraterrestrial electric voice, "You guys left this all for me, you shouldn't have!" before landing backwards on the ground, skidding which caused flakes of concrete to fly in the air as it slashed two men in its path concurrently, reaching for their pistols in the second window but only managing to grab one.

It spun around to start sprinting the other way as more gunfire faced onwards, only able to pocket that one weapon before then leaping at another man with a punch straight to the face, sending him flying back but not far as his legs are grabbed before his whole body was spun and thrown for his ally, causing both of them to collide and collapse, unable to stop the shadow from continuing to the next targets with one great leap.

"Guess I'll need to pick it all up…," murmured the voice as the black mask gazed down on the approaching section of the roof which had several bulkheads and multiple vested men, all taking notice to the approaching shadow, all of them shaken up as they took aim on the gliding target whose boots ignited green.

Without touching a physical surface, the Marauder kicked off the air and bolted down at ferocious speeds, crashing down into the crowd with an instant first pummel to the face before grabbing the arm of the neighbor and throwing him high up in the air whilst finishing, "...when I've cleared you all out!"

Surrounded by the gang armored in vests and armed with guns, the Marauder glanced around yet showed no fear at first, body low and arms out ready to fight before then lunging at the nearest man and launching a devilish roundhouse kick to the side of the head that blasted him far from view followed by two slashes at the arms of the next victim who rose said arms for defense, only for them to then be grabbed so he could be chucked at two others who fell upon impact, standing in front of a terrified senile man who stumbled back and aimed his small revolver.

Off the ground again the Marauder pounced as it distantly heard a familiar voice, one whose words weren't comprehensible exactly but the voice itself felt it should be identifiable, stunning the faceless beast for just a moment as she whispered to herself, "Huh?" before shaking its head to return focus from the gunshot right ahead.

Just managing to evade the shot with a pounce to the ground before springing back up, the Marauder administered a harsh uppercut straight into the jaw of the man as it sneered, "You sure you should be doing this at this age?"

It then charged on ahead, racing to the next quadrant of the ring that surrounded the central group, bounding over shafts and swinging off of poles to reach the top of the bulkhead for greater elevation onto the next rooftop that it managed to reach without needing to climb given the accelerated jump.

On that next rooftop was another mob of bandits who all faced away from the center, shouting incomprehensibly and firing on spot at the target who moved too fast to get proper aim, lacking any projectile weapons yet still managing to close the distance to slash and strike.

Bobbing low slashing kneecaps before raising up to rip the pistol off the next guy's hands, the Marauder just assessed to itself, "Hmm, actually this isn't so bad is it," before chucking that exact pistol at the head of the next gunner, a throw empowered with a green burst enough that the gunner stumbled back and fell from that one toss alone as the weapon bounced back into the clawed hand to be slid into the bag.

Over the shouting and gunshots coming from every direction, that familiar voice of an old weary man was again vaguely audible, passing through the thunder to just slip in the words spoken in an anxious tone, "It's not focusing on us right now, we need to get this out of here."

From the perception of that speech, the Marauder stiffened standing straight and curiously turned its head towards the center where she thought it came from as she muttered, "Wait…huh…?"

Reality returned with a punch or rather a gunshot just narrowly grazing her leg, snapping the shadow back into the fight, enraged by the near hit as it lunged straight at the man who had shot at it, grabbing the arms and yanking them to the side so it could then thrust its knee straight into the abdomen, conjuring a pained cough from the man that threw spit on the black mask just before his back struck a wall.

Standing upright again and, despite the armed attention surrounding, wiping the mask with an elbow, the Marauder grunted and chided in a disgusted voice, "Ew, nasty," before stabbing the walls with its claws and crawling up, speeding up with every pull as its motions was less of a cautious climb and more of thrusts up the wall to hastily reach the top.

Upon doing so, the Marauder shook its head and fixed it on the final batch of gunmen, six all scattered across the rooftop, some of them hidden behind shafts and poles and others out in the open having become more aggressive shooting at the circle.

One of those unfortunate to be without cover took notice to the standing silhouette who froze up for a second before strafing to the side to narrowly avoid a shot, the movements becoming more lagged but there a remedy was sought from a straight dash into his chest, throwing him backwards into one of his larger companions who grunted in pain, still conscious, as the other wide open gunman fired three shots only for his target to leap high up in the air with a spin that drew a green circle, one that ended with a heavy downward kick to the face that submerged him into the ground.

The last three fired from behind their cover which the Marauder took immediate notice to as it dashed straight for the closest one, strafing from left to right to evade the shots before then jumping over the metal generator and grabbing the man by his hair using its clawed feet, still airborne in its glide for the second man which it reached in a landing that slammed the aforementioned man in the ground right before the next one was struck with three quick jabs to the face, jabs that didn't throw the man back but instead dropped him to the ground in a straight collapse.

Further ahead the final man stumbled back before turning around and sprinting away, bailing to fight back, although he wasn't as fast as his pursuer who took off first along the vents which clanked from every step before it bounded off that and swung off a pole for higher altitude, able to cover the rest of the distance and ultimately land down on the runaway bandit.

With the seeming final of the surrounding gunmen swiftly defeated, the Marauder plucked the handgun off his fingers which lacked any tenacity from lack of consciousness, and after standing upright it slipped the gun into the backpack.

Relieved now that it appeared the first group had been taken down, the Marauder let out a sigh and turned its head to face the center where the gunfight was directed towards. Intrigued by what the former opponents were, it turned the body towards that center and sprinted at it while pondering, "Let's see what this other party has," as a subtle groan passed behind.

Leaping off the ledge and grabbing poles to then swing off them, the Marauder launched itself straight for the rooftop at the center of the complex, one that was ironically lower than most like a sinkhole.

With high altitude over the center, the Marauder observed the other party which was surrounding a door, one that was barricaded with a crate as other obstructions like generators and shafts were used for cover as well as the surrounding vents and chimneys. There were strangely only two men in that circle, both of them standing well despite having clearly been overpowered.

Noting the irony out loud to itself, the shadow jested even to no audience: "Huh, they can't get two guys? They didn't deserve the loot then did they."

Again while at first the trajectory of flight was a gentle glide, the Marauder oriented itself at a downward angle and brought its knees up as the cracks in its feet shined light, energy that expelled in a kick launching it straight for the pit.

Soaring through the air, the Marauder faced head on as its black mask reflected its destination, the metal crate at the door being guarded by the two men with the one in the center being a middle aged man with wavy gray hair dressed in a brown leather coat over a black vest.

Initially bothered with checks on any remaining enemies, that man took notice of the glimmer in the corner of his eyes which he turned towards, those eyes being pacific blue as his mouth opened in awe, or rather dread.

With the mask covering the whole face, no translucent pieces even for the goggles to see the eyes, as there was not even semblance of a human face carved into the metal plates, there was no visible facial expression on the monstrous beast in black who ravaged all who'd catch its attention. Yet there was a certain entrancement that could be detected, one that froze up the untouchable demon, fixating it while it drifted open in the air without any ground to race on nor cover to get behind. It just stared in silence, the black hood wiggling in the wind, but the mask was completely still.

After an exchange of glances that perhaps felt to transpire over many seconds but in fact didn't for even one, the man's astonished gaze shifted into a desperate glare as he raised his own handgun up, gripping it by the curved cuff handle jutting from the weapon's rear, allowing it to line perfectly straight with his arm as he took aim at the beast and unleashed a roar with the thunderous shots.

The reaction was delayed, but the Marauder soon snapped out of the daze upon instinct to block her face as bullets bounced off her fists, lighting sparks as she just narrowly saved herself. There was however a clear lack of the same primal focus as before, as her legs began flailing mindlessly in the rest of her dive.

On the ground the two men raised their heads to notice the incoming meteor, and they both shuffled to the side as the Marauder landed, its black body lit up and clear. Its black clawed feet, its black leggings, its black hoodie with long black sleeves, and the black fists with the first and last having larger proportions than the rest of the body. Up close they had cracks from the separation of the plates, cracks like the ones on the black mask: the only feature on the mask to be exact.

Next to the familiar, the other man stumbled back, now well within range of being struck, backing up close to the door only for him to stumble against the crate, yet he stood upright with his pistol clutched in both hands, although he was unable to lift it.

Even his partner was stunned for a second, but while it was substantially due in part from the overloading fear, there was a hint of intrigue, a curious peer as though he was examining with contemplation upon a closer glance of the mythological monster.

That was until all the sudden a bang shook the city, out of nowhere the other man stumbled again, but this time instinctively grabbing his left shoulder as he grunted in pain. Both the partner and the Marauder glanced at him, although only the partner's face could reveal the dread to the sight of the bloody wound that had now appeared on the man's shoulder blade just above the vest's protection.

"Get down Harry!" exclaimed the man, as his ally scurried off behind cover, before the partner raised his head up to find that from the direction the final attacker had come from, up on the edge of the rooftop stood one final large gunman, and in a few swift motions the man aimed his pistol and fired only two shots. While the precise impact couldn't be discernible from afar, what could be was the falling of the limp body off the ledge.

Now the final bandit defeated, the man's handgun stayed in aiming position, and he shifted that aim down to the Marauder who was just standing still, or that was until he unleashed a barrage.

Completely bewildered, the Marauder staggered back and instinctively raised its hands over its head, blocking the first few shots while stepping backwards. Yet rather than countering with a dash straight for the shooter, instead in an action entirely taken out of instinct with no voluntary thought, she turned around and began sprinting away.

The cracks in the boots lit up, catching the last gunner's attention who fired a shot at the boot, causing it to bounce off due to its metal hide, allowing the Marauder the time to take a leap up and away towards the nearby rooftops, although during that bound the man was able to take one more shot.

That single shot burst from the barrel of the handgun in a fiery emergence, flying in a trail of disturbed air that could not push back, for the golden bullet traveled so elegantly in a straight line straight for the black metal boot.

But it didn't strike the boot, rather it struck right above it: the calf covered only in the leggings, the leggings that were penetrated through instantly as blood splattered from the entry.

Immediately that strike was felt as the Marauder shrieked an ugly, alien shriek, her arms flailing chaotically as its jump lost the desired trajectory, instead landing short of the nearby rooftop only about one story higher than the center. 

Luckily the Marauder managed to grab the ledge, her feet just barely dangling over the bulkhead of the rooftop which sat beside a generator and shafts. With all her strength she struggled to pull herself up the ledge, but was able to do so and roll out into hiding before another shot could be taken.

With keen eyes the man watched the beast crawl into hiding, away from aim. He waited for a few moments, the breeze blowing against his wavy hair. His weapon stayed raised, aimed for retaliation, not needing to bring sights between the eyes but still having perfect control over where exactly the next bullet would land. Yet even seconds after the silence returned to the city, seconds after the beast might've found a new angle, there was no counterattack.

There was a clear confliction in the man's face from turning away from such a threat, yet after hearing the groaning from his partner he had to make the bold choice in lowering his arm and turning his back from the fight and his attention to the man who laid against a ventilation shaft, his hand over his arm, his handgun sitting on the floor by his lap.

Sighing from the knowledge that any moment could bring a strike that he might not be as lucky to anticipate, the man regardless moved his firearm into his holster and shuffled over to his partner before kneeling down, concern written on his face as he inspected the wound.

Understanding the silent request, the partner dropped his hand, allowing sight of the long black sleeve which had the large red splatter.

Furthermore, the man grabbed the cuffs of the partner's sleeve and rolled it all the way up the arm, past the shoulder blade despite the pained wince given in front of him.

With the sleeve now rolled up, the full arm could be exposed, an arm wrinkled and weathered with age. What was more concerning though was the open wound on the shoulder blade, the red hole that blood was once again beginning to drip from before the bleeder returned his hand over the wound again, the pain worsening as told by the hoarse cough and guilty admission: "Guess that's what standing still does to ya huh Leo?"

Sighing from the quip made in a time more dire, the man shook his head and reached one hand into his vest, pulling one of the slender black canisters off and retorting, "Well look at the bright side, least we don't need to worry about that last wave."

With his other hand he gripped the other side of the canister, holding each end before then suddenly snapping it in half, revealing a towel poking out from one end, although he placed that end on the ground and focused on the other which he tilted to let first a single syringe fall out, one loaded with a vial full of a liquid with a gentle translucent blue.

He raised the syringe over to the wound before the partner let go of his own wound to grab his friend's wrist, preventing him from moving the hand any further before he then assured, "I'm no boy, I can treat it myself. You got knocked around when we were getting out of that room, I know you're hiding some hits yourself."

First opening his mouth to argue, the man just sighed again and nodded his head before placing both the syringe and the other canister half on the floor in front of the partner. His hands free and back to his side, he nodded his head with the admission, "Yeah…," although following it up with a glance over to the rooftop behind him, the one the beast had crawled to.

Staring up at the rooftop with eyes both uneasy yet eager, the man just gazed on before his partner behind him raised his head away from the medical equipment and caught that gaze, prompted immediately to ask in a distraught manner, "Wait no, you're not thinking of-."

"We still have a ways down Harry, it'll catch up to us. It didn't take those guys out because it wanted to help us, it was just making itself the only predator," reasoned the man, for his partner already caught onto the plan.

"Are you crazy? You go up there and you're guaranteed to get it, least maybe we'll be lucky down. But you can't, I mean nobody's taken that thing down, and sorry but you're not as agile as you used to be," contended the partner, the words perhaps at face value defamatory, yet it was clear they were valid concerns coming from genuine care.

"I got a shot on the leg, I know it got through. It's not invincible, it's clearly got casual fabrics, I just need to hit it there. And right now there's a chance it's still wounded, maybe it's healed up already but there's a chance that for the first time it might be doable," argued back the man regardless.

He turned back to the partner and assured, "Look, I'll just get up there, and if it's not there, I'll come back down. But for the first time we have a chance to rid this thing, we might never get this chance again."

"Okay…fine…," ultimately surrendered the partner with a lowered head, but not before raising it back and passionately declaring, "But I'm coming with!"

"No you're not," the man immediately shut down.

"But I-," tried to assert the partner only to be instantly countered, "You're not getting a solid aim with that wound, if you come up with me you'll just drag me down."

"Ah come on don't be an ass," argued back the partner, somewhat hypocritically after his own use of deliberate shunning to make a caring point. Yet just from the passion of his words alone he felt a pain that required him to tightly squeeze on his arm, groaning and grunting from the agony he was enduring every second.

That agony couldn't be hidden, not from the man whose gray hair waved in the wind as he requested, "I'll need you here, guard the box, who knows who might try to come up and do a snatch. And I'm not carrying this all on my own either, so see how much you can recoup before I come back. I know what I'm doing, trust me I'd prefer to get back home to my kid after this. So just sit tight and I'll be back, got it?"

Wishing so badly to argue, for such desire was clear by the conflicted agitation on his face, the partner could formulate no argument but for the ultimate acceptance: "Got it…," which was spoken faint and somber.

Nodding his head to the compromise's success, the man then stood back up and assured, "I got one more med stick, don't worry," before turning around and beginning his walk.

In a cautious stroll the man started towards the rooftop, and just at its beginning he was granted the wish behind him, "Get back in one piece, I'm not carrying this myself either."

Not stopping or even slowing his pace, the man just continued on ahead and retorted, "Noted," as he kept onward, off to hunt a demon.

Unarmed at first, the man paced down the rooftop towards the edge where stood the bulkhead along with the shafts and generators. His head remained straight, his movements cautious although with some lax, maintaining a degree of looseness as his partner just watched from a growing distance before lowering his head to pick up the syringe.

Reaching the edge, the man raised his head and peered keenly, inspecting the height he'd need to reach in search for a path.

About fifteen feet high was where the ledge of the rooftop was, a height that'd be impossible for any ordinary man to scale by itself. However, the bulkhead was tall enough such that if one was atop it, at least he'd realistically be able to mantle up to the ledge.

Yet that bulkhead itself was far too tall, about ten feet high, also unable to climb up realistically. However right beside it was one of the metal generators which was about seven feet tall, with a flat top and one wide enough to stand on at least for one person. Though while the generator wasn't much taller, climbing up it would still prove challenging especially for a man whose body had passed its prime.

Beside the generator though were the shafts, one of them particularly nearly touching the generator, standing to be about three feet tall. It was the perfect stool needed, and after just a few moments of analysis, a path had been traced out.

First the man approached the metal shaft, placing his hands on the rim to pull himself up onto it, needing to be cautious about his footing as the shafts themselves while flat were not too wide thus there was only a minor surface he could inhabit. Nevertheless he climbed up and brought his feet onto the surface, spacing them out slightly but still able to ground himself well.

After standing up straight, he then turned to the generator which made a gentle humming sound, active but not dangerous. Without the freedom to move any closer given the lack of surface on the makeshift stool, the man had to reach forth slightly when grabbing onto the top with his hands, gripping as tight as he could given that the metal wasn't the roughest material and the lack of texture further left little opportunity for a strong grip.

Needing to rely entirely on himself, the man groaned as he pulled his body up the generator, his fingers bent sharp like claws but with the only sharp points being his rounded fingernails.

Nevertheless the man pulled his own weight up onto the generator, throwing his body over its flat surface with a thud. First laid flat, he quickly slid up onto his feet, facing next to the bulkhead which was slightly higher of a climb, but luckily the erosion in the concrete left more of a pattern to hold onto.

Noticing this property, the man left little time for rest as he promptly gripped the next edge, sliding his fingers into the deeper natural incisions, a technique similar to ones used in rock climbing.

Despite needing to pull himself higher, the grasp he gained resulted in a relatively similar requisite of strength previously, at least still within bounds of reason as he pulled himself up, the ends of his leather coat flapping in the breeze.

There was more groaning coming from him though as there was a discernible rise in difficulty, but one he overcame once he managed to toss his body over the top, rolling in his cargo pants.

On the final step, the man was quick to stand back up, turning to face the last point.

Above him still high yet manageable was the destination, the rooftop that the monster had escaped to. What was at that rooftop he did not know, for there could be an ambush waiting for him, he could be struck before he could even get a look of the scene. Or perhaps there would be no monster at all, and he would've lost time for nothing.

There was no knowing, for the beast certainly was not visible from the low angle the man had, and thus the only assumption he could get would have to be the worst possibility.

After a gentle sigh to himself in acknowledgement of the rather ballsy expedition he was embarking on, the man nonetheless reached his hands up to the rooftop's ledge, also able to acquire tenacity with the patterns baked in from the erosion of the surfaces. However his arms were closer to straight as there was a higher rise to climb, meaning he'd require more time to climb, leaving him vulnerable to an attack he wouldn't be able to counter.

Nevertheless, the man grunted and pulled, curling his sleeved arms and lifting his feet off the ground. He groaned from the exertion, but pulled nonetheless, pulling until his head raised above the rooftop.

Able to now take a glance at the roof, the man found that it was relatively small on its own, about ten feet long and wide. There was another bulkhead at the corner too, although it was too tall to get a solid sight of its top.

At least there wasn't an imminent strike waiting, and thus with the safety acknowledged the man continued to pull up until his torso reached above the surface, and finally he could thrust the rest of himself over the roof even if he had to roll twice on the floor first.

Grunting in exhaustion, the man only permitted a second of rest before grabbing the floor and throwing himself back up to his feet, glancing from side to side at the vacant rooftop. He reached for his other holster and slid out his large revolver, holding it with one hand but raising his arm to aim even without a target. He cautiously began creeping forward, deeper into the rooftop, turning his head swift but smooth, keen on any movement.

Yet the one blindspot was that bulkhead's top, as laying on there was the beast he sought for, the black shadow, the lethal silhouette draped all in the darkest color.

Although that monster was scrunched up in a sitting position, clutching one of their legs as their faceless head focused down on their calf, their body rocking slightly back and forth as though in a futile attempt at calming.

Focus was made on the calf as there was a visible wound penetrated through the black jogger, the one made of casual fibers rather than the heavy metal of the feet and hands. Due to such, there was a red spot where the piercing occurred, and while the voice was quiet enough that it couldn't be made out over the city's breeze, there was a hyperventilation audible just to herself, one with an inhuman synthetic nature but a nature still organically terrified.

That terror only leapt higher from the sound of shuffling before, almost making the beast jump in fright before then more carefully turning around and crawling over to the edge of their vantage point.

Doing so revealed the truth that the distance they had made was now nullified, as they watched the man roam around the rooftop just a few feet under them, carrying that heavy handgun, aiming it in preparation to fire it immediately upon identifying the target.

Perhaps any facial expression or even those of the eyes couldn't be judged due to a lack of transparency in the black mask, but there was a clear sense of doubt, and a stress that rose with it. She kept low to the ground, at a crawl even if it meant being unable to tend to her wound.

From the angle higher up, it was clear the man had no idea where she was, for he could only turn aimlessly. But despite that, he seemed assertive that he was in the right area, for he showed no signs of retreat, not returning back to the ledge but instead just waiting for an opportunity. Even though he didn't know for certain that the beast was there, he wouldn't leave, resulting in the fact that a confrontation was inevitable, eventually one would find the other whether it be from the man catching an angle or the beast needing to expose themselves. For she couldn't escape, not with the injury in her leg as any attempt to retreat would be too slow and allow for a fatal shot to land on her. She couldn't run away, she could only run towards, for it was either admit death or have a chance to survive.

Only the latter was an actual choice, although a confrontation wasn't desired regardless, especially not one with the one man she didn't want to fight. Anyone else wouldn't matter, she was absolutely blithe of dishing any injury to anyone who seemed to have something of interest, but this was the one single exception in the whole world, in the whole universe. The one person who mattered besides her, now being pitted against her in a cruelly ironic twist of fate.

In a tricky puzzle, the best plan that could be made was to aim for a clean disarm, to snatch away the lethal weapons of the man such that she could make her escape without being struck. 

If she could just aim for the hand that the man held the firearm in, she could likely rip the weapon off his grip from strength alone, as while she'd need to be cautious not to exert too much force on his body she would still be able to steal the weapon with relative ease. That was the only choice for a nonviolent confrontation, and while it still felt wrong to rob her own father, at worst she knew he had a wider arsenal, and at best perhaps she could leave it behind for him to recover it somewhere anyways. As while there was no doubt that the weapon was impressive, she simply could not take it and feel accomplished, it was the one code of the otherwise immoral prowler.

Set on the plan, the Marauder planted her feet on the ground, trying best to ignore the gaping wound above. Between the cracks of the plates emerged a brightening green glow, preparation for a boost.

Clutching the surface in a position ready to pounce with hands also glowing from the ravines, the black mask kept onwards, on at the target, waiting for the perfect timing, the perfect positioning, the perfect moment.

Then, the man turned to his side, his arm right in sight, the handgun being held but loose enough.

Flared, those green cracks brighten.

Shrieking, the intense energy grew.

Dubious, the man turned his head with a raised eyebrow.

From the top of the bulkhead looming over the mere old mortal, the black shadow pounced from the darkness, huge claws out ready to strike as it left an ominous residual green streak behind.

Immediately the man's eyes grew wide in terror and he swiftly turned his aim to the sudden target with his finger pressed down on the trigger synchronously.

Boom the gun roared, and a bright light erupted which nearly blinded the whole rooftop.

Instinctively in reaction, the black shadow crossed its arms over its chest, making the premeditated move just in time for the bullet to strike the black hand, which perfectly blocked the bullet from penetration as it instead ricocheted off with only a spark, leaving little impact damage.

At first it appeared the battle's results were decided, the shadow readied its strike with razor nails, not enough time to pull the hammer and fire another round.

Yet simultaneous as that first shot, the man's other hand recoiled from its other holster, pulling out the other handgun with the straight body which he aimed the moment his first round ricocheted, able to pull the second trigger just before the distance could be closed.

This second shot struck the body too, but rather than any of the plated parts, it instead struck slightly higher where the shoulder was. This shot did not result in a bouncing spark, but rather it penetrated straight through and came out the other end nearly just as fast, followed by a reactionary electric scream pitched so painfully.

From a beastly glance that incited fear just from exposure, the black shadow lost all composure and instinctively grabbed its shoulder right before crashing straight into the ground, missing the target who strafed back and instantly trailed the hunter.

In front of the mortal man lay the Marauder, laying on the ground while groaning through the synthetic voice, heaving as slowly the man approached, cautious with both arms down, instead inspecting the monster.

Involuntarily the Marauder sat up and grabbed its own shoulder, the sudden movement prompting a retaliation of the man who aimed both pistols straight for the monster, only for it to notice and cover its face before crying out, "WAIT DAD!!"

Fingers sitting on the trigger, millimeters from actuation, the man's ferociously determined glare instantly washed into a perplexed daze accompanied with the appropriately confused tone of voice in the question: "Dana…?"

Huffing and wheezing, the Marauder quickly moved its hands by its chin at the bottom of the black mask, grabbing it and pulling it up along the face which triggered the plates to fold back into the central bar that reeled up from the mouth to the eyes and finally to the top of the head where it then was pulled into the hood, vanishing, slivers of fair skin visible between the great sharp metal fingers.

Those fingers then moved to the side to reveal the face underneath no longer concealed and armored, but rather exposed to be the face of the young teenage girl, whose green eyes were wide in absolute fear, huffing in a voice no longer extraterrestrial but mortally human.

In slower movements now that the face was revealed anyways, she grabbed the edge of the black hood and pulled it off her head, allowing her amber hair to poof back out, the asymmetrical bangs which hung around the face's left side.

From that perplexed daze to a horrified gaze, the man's eyes shot wide and he promptly concealed both pistols in his holsters simultaneously with a dash to the monster.

Quick to slide down with one knee dropped, the man approached Dana and intuitively pulled the last canister off of his vest, cracking it in half and dropping one to then let the other slide the syringe out into his newly freed hand before then dropping the other half to grab the shoulder of the scared child.

Without additional words, he then brought the syringe's tip into the shoulder wound before pushing down, injecting the translucent liquid to which the girl tensed up with clenched teeth and squeezed eyes.

It only lasted a few seconds though as the man pulled the syringe back out and tossed it aside before then pulling the towel out from the other canister half and expertly wrapping it around the wound, forming a tight seal with a tie.

No words were spoken on the rooftop, for beyond the breeze of the city and hums of the generators, the only human sounds emitted were the huffing of the girl as the man released the hold on the shoulder.

Still clearly tense but able to now open her eyes and close her mouth, the girl took a few more breaths until the man assured her in a gentle voice, "Keep it on for about a day and you'll be good to go."

To that assurance of health, the girl instead lowered her head ashamed and softly thanked, "Thanks dad…and I'm sorry I-."

"'Sorry' isn't going to do you any good, Dana," immediately interjected the man, his tone suddenly now harsh and cold, his expression reflective with a stern scowl.

Raising her head up with wide eyes, the girl more desperately tried to reason, "Wait no Dad please you have to understand I-."

"Understand?!" revolted the man, again silencing the girl from the hostile tone that had come so abruptly.

From a gentle gaze to an aggressive glare, the man admonished as he pointed right at the girl, "What, understand that for the past year, that thing that's been out there raiding people, that thing that I've been anxious looking at roofs for, that thing has been you?! What, sneaking off and putting on that costume or whatever have you, going around and terrorizing these streets? Like some kind of demon?"

Watery eyed, the girl earnestly begged as she clenched her shoulder, "Wait no Dad please I promise I didn't mean to do anything to you I swear-."

"So what were you meaning to do then Dana, hm?" fought back the man, "What, are you just doing this for fun? Chasing people with guns, real guns, in some little gloves? I mean we all thought it had to be some kinda Exhuman who was getting too cocky but I know for a fact your mother and I have clean blood. So what, you've just been risking your life out there all this time, just for fun? Thinking you're invincible under that?"

Unable to just plea, the girl instead raised her voice in a more powerful exclamation: "Well it's not like there was anything else for me to do since you're always out risking your life too doing whatever this is-,"

"I'm doing 'whatever this is' for you Dana!" yelled out the man, shutting the girl down but even more powerfully recoiling her into a ball as she wrapped her arms around her legs and lowered her head.

Huffing now just from the agitation alone, the man panted as he explained, "Yes, every day I do risk my life, but I do it for us. For you. Your clothes. Your bed. Your food. I've been doing this for all this time so that-...so that-...," although the man's aggression began to waver, and he lowered his head before more soberly concluding, "So that you wouldn't have to…."

After the more genuine statement, the girl raised her head up to meet her father's eyes as he professed, "All these years I've been trying, trying to give you the closest to a normal life as I can. I've been getting you clothes that I know people your age like, I've been trying to find dealers with tosses that taste more like real food…I've been trying to keep you safe from this shitty world…. Because it's not a safe one Dana…maybe you think you have power with those gizmos but this world consumes you one way or another if you walk into it. So I…I've been trying to keep you out…and the truth is…for all these years I've been trying to find us a way off this rock. Somewhere far away, somewhere better, somewhere that'll treat you right, somewhere you can belong."

Eyes watery such that they shimmer, the girl reflected in silence with a frown before then asserting with a voice more confident yet still damp, "I-...I know dad…and I'm grateful…I really am…. But while you've been busy trying, I've been busy growing. I can't just sit in here my whole life waiting for something magical to happen, sooner or later I just need to accept where I am and find what I can do with it. I've already faced so many people my age in these streets…I'm not a kid anymore."

She then lowered her head, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks as she hesitantly declared, "I can't keep hiding behind you forever, dad…."

His head still low, and only lowering more from the declaration, the man just quietly apologized in a voice depressingly shameful, "I know…and I'm so sorry Breadhead…I've been trying my best for you and I-...I know I haven't done enough…."

All of a sudden the girl thrusted herself onto the man, wrapping her arms around him which nearly frightened him from the abrupt expansion of the eyes.

Embracing him tightly, the girl winced from the somber apology and assured albeit with a voice wavering in silent sobs, "Don't apologize dad…you've done more than enough for me…this isn't your fault. But you're right, this is a cruel world, this is the reality we live in. So I have to live in it, even if you don't like it. Because either I chase the world, or the world'll chase me."

She then loosened and slipped out of the embrace, facing straight at him with a gentle smile pushing against the rain of her own tears, finding that the man too had tears rolling down his face, his head raised slightly more but still low.

"You really do have your mother's ferociousness huh…well then if I can't stop you…," the man admitted soberly before raising his head to meet his daughter's gaze with his own, one still tearing but sharp with newfound determination which befit his more bold tone as he declared, "Then I'll do my best to help you stay safe. It's not ideal but if it means the only thing I can to keep you protected, I'll bring you with me. I hope it's not embarrassing having your old man around."

Softly smiling at the uplifting joke, the girl nodded her head and accepted, "No, I'd like that. And I know I could be smarter…I'll be smarter…but just in my own way I guess…."

To that assurance the man was able to push back his own smile too, one relieved to come to a compromise. He then let out a grunt as he pulled himself back up to a stand as the girl looked up to keep facing him.

Maintaining eye contact back, the father smiled as he extended his arm to his daughter, to which they just gazed at each other for a few moments in silence, an acceptance of their evolved bond that perhaps had shaved away its old ideals of paradise but in a way that had forged the bond against the harshness of reality so that it could battle against it with unity.

The seasoned gunslinger in the brown leather coat, protected with traditional vests covered in his arsenal, a belt around the hips carrying magazines and rounds. His gray wavy hair danced in the winds, his pacific blue eyes calm, his scruffy beard covering his chin.

The younger yet maturing hunter in the black hoodie, reinforced with heavy metal boots equipped with sharp claws similar to the large gloves, perhaps an unconventional arsenal but one whose effectiveness had garnered a reputation. Her amber gentle hair tossed in the breeze, her parakeet green eager, her face clear and primarily abstained of scuffings.

Thus the daughter slid her right hand inside her hoodie's pocket as the plates covering her hand receded back away from sight, the panels sliding beneath each other to compartmentalize. She then brought her hand out, no longer weighted by the weapon but instead light with skin as the only armor, skin vulnerable but trusting as she reached for her father's hand and clung to it.

Contact made, the father pulled his daughter up to her feet, helping her stand until she could stabilize herself. They both gazed at each other with smiles, anxious of what an uncertain future would bring, but content with the strength that they'd complement each other with.

For perhaps they were forced to accept a bleak world as their own, but in unity there was just an ever so dim light that punctured through that veil, one that'd shine over the clutches of the shadows.

As the world could be cold.

But bonds could make it warmer.