A New Tour

The dust took hours to settle.

When Ren finally opened his eyes, he was coughing violently, his mouth tasting of ash and powdered cement. He was lying on his stomach, pinned beneath a heavy slab of drywall, but his limbs were intact.

He shoved the debris off his back with a groan that rattled his bruised ribs.

Sunlight.

Harsh, unfiltered morning sunlight was streaming through the massive, jagged crater that used to be the ceiling of the lobby. The top twenty floors of the broadcast tower had collapsed, burying the remains of the Leviathan beneath thousands of tons of concrete and twisted steel.

Ren scrambled frantically through the rubble. "Jax! Jax!"

He found him half-buried near the stairwell, protected by the sturdy angle of a collapsed steel beam.

Ren dug him out with bleeding hands. Jax was covered in gray dust, his tactical gear shredded, but his chest was rising and falling steadily.

"Jax, hey, look at me," Ren rasped, pulling the other boy up into a sitting position against the rubble.

Jax coughed, wincing in pain, and slowly opened his eyes. He looked at the ruined lobby. He looked at the massive pile of rubble burying the monster. Then, he looked at Ren.

Jax reached up, his hand trembling, and gently tapped his fingers against Ren’s chest. He offered a weak, crooked, genuinely impressed smile.

He didn't need a voice to say it. *You did it. You're the Center.*

Ren let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob, slumping back against the concrete beside him. "Don't ever make me do a solo again. My throat feels like I swallowed broken glass."

Jax huffed a silent laugh, resting his head back against the wall.

Ren tapped the comms unit on his wrist. It was completely dead. The screen was cracked, and the internal wiring had been fried by the massive magical feedback of his final attack. Jax held up his own wrist; his comms were equally destroyed.

"No trackers," Ren murmured, staring at the broken tech. "No comms."

To the military, to the corporate agencies safely behind the walls of Sector 7, Squad Aegis had lost two members in the Resonance Wastes. Echo and Nova were officially MIA. Presumed dead.

Ren looked at the jagged hole in the wall leading out into the apocalyptic cityscape. The morning light caught the alien crystal flora, making the ruins glow with a strange, terrible beauty.

They could try to walk back. They could hike the ten miles to the safe zone, bang on the reinforced gates, and beg Command to let them back in. They could go back to the vanity mirrors, the sterile barracks, and the terrifying reality that they were nothing but disposable assets waiting for the next Swarm.

Ren looked at Jax. Jax was watching him, his pale eyes calm and calculating. He was waiting for Ren to make the call.

Ren reached down and unclasped the heavy, cumbersome tactical vest bearing the Aegis corporate logo. He let it drop to the dusty floor with a heavy thud. He was just wearing his black undershirt now, battered, bruised, but entirely free.

"They wrote us off, Jax," Ren said quietly, his voice raspy but steady. "They told us to die."

Jax nodded slowly, his expression hardening. He reached down and unclasped his own corporate vest, letting it fall beside Ren’s.

"I don't think I want to sing their songs anymore," Ren said, standing up. The aches in his body were immense, but he felt lighter than he had in four years.

He turned to Jax and offered him a hand.

Jax looked at the offered hand. The golden boy and the backup. The sword and the shield.

Jax reached up and grasped Ren’s hand tightly. Ren hauled him to his feet. They swayed for a moment, supporting each other's weight in the quiet ruins of the old world.

"We don't have a map," Ren said, slinging Jax’s arm over his shoulder, adjusting his grip around the taller boy’s waist. "We don't have a squad. I don't even know what's past the Wastes."

Jax looked out at the glowing, crystal-infected ruins. He looked back at Ren, a fierce, unbroken rebellious spark lighting up his eyes. He raised his free hand, pointing out into the unknown horizon, and tapped his fingers against his thigh in a steady, driving rhythm.

* We write our own.*

Ren smiled. A bright, genuine, entirely fearless smile.

"Alright," Ren said, adjusting his grip, stepping forward into the sunlight. "Let's go write a new tour."

Together, the silenced star and the loud backup walked out of the ruins, leaving their names in the dust, and disappeared into the glowing, apocalyptic wastes.