With a deep breath, Michael started running.
He blurred through the night, his inhuman speed turning the world around him into a smear of wind and shadow.
He wasn't trying to hide, but drawing attention wasn't in his best interest either.
Brightgate's outskirts stretched for miles.
But as Michael pushed forward, the surroundings began to shift.
The lights grew brighter. Streets more organized. Signs of civilization returned.
And finally, the city welcomed him.
Brightgate felt alive.
The scent of street food lingering in the air even this late and so many other things—all of it clashed against the memory of Woodstone's quiet, desolate streets.
Tall buildings loomed in the distance, their glass windows shimmering with light.
Stores remained open, even past midnight.
Digital boards displayed ads and news bulletins.
Michael also saw something that made his usually expressionless face light up, his eyes widening in surprise.
It was a car.
A low-hovering, flying car.
