The air units carried the shrill vibrations of metal stuttering, deep in the bowels of the station, reminding Han the intermittent calls of a sonar explorer. Hazel eyes drew the shapes of two downtown deputies, hovering at an angle next to the admission booth. MUTED STATIC. An irrational sense of exploit had gripped his muscles, filled him with promise as he settled back on a public bench, and keyed up when he peered sideways at the overflow of civilians thronging the terminus. Han breathed in the midnight and smelled sweat, grime, and the dense, overbearing fumes of unfiltered pollution. Although familiar—it wasn’t HOME.
A lingering edge of desperation conjured within disquiet. Missed home as much as he’d miss a lost limb or two.
Opened wide to the urban sprawl, Han felt a zip trace along his nerves, slinking under the honed limits of INHERENT INSTINCT, of quick thrills and contingencies, let it culminate the steady compulsion of vigilance—because for the first time in his life, Solo still didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to save himself while lost here, in this new, DANGEROUS world. A discordant, metallic squeal heralded a monorail bullet. Han stole a glance at a woman clad in vibrant red dress, and the new reality made itself known again, with sensations as physical as the hot, stuffy breeze rolling over the cold skin of his face. Something fell from her purse.
❝ Ma’am, uh ❞ Deaf to his calls, she kept walking, and Han followed, her gilded wallet clutched in one hand. ❝ HEY . . . LADY WAIT! ❞ . . . // @bloodamy
