Nikola had been mapping out as much as the city as he could before he sundown; the sun was still bright and shining as he walked down the sidewalk, pushing through a harsh wind that blew against him. He decided he might actually cut the walk short; the constant buzz of the breeze was beginning to irritate him.
As he began to reroute his walk towards his District, he feels his cane tap slightly to the side and bounce off of the asphalt that coated the road. He let’s out a slight chuckle as he adjusts slightly towards the center of the sidewalk, the slick words of another slipping through his mind. His trip down memory lane is cut short by a sharp blow to his chest.
It couldn’t have taken more than five seconds, he thinks. He was definitely punched in this chest, and it was sure as hell someone who knew how to throw a mean punch; he’s thrown against the floor by the force of the fist, his glasses knocking away from his face and shattering against the pavement. The loud yelp of a german shepard brings him to his feet, and the sound of Tesla’s struggling body is soon blocked out by a car door.
He breaks into a sprint as he hears the rev of the engine precede the sound of tires taking off down the road, and he’s soon in pursuit of the car, following the sound of the motor down the sidewalk. He runs against the wind as the beginnings of a frustrated cry begin to pool inside of his chest; he has no time to be angry or to come up with a plan of action, and as the car begins to zoom out of his field of hearing, he feels another sharp blow push him back onto the pavement. But this time, it’s not a fist—it’s a person.
