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She had never seen a sky like this.
Of course, she had seen the sky before, back in the city. Pale bluish grey with occasional wispy clouds, puzzle pieced between the tall shining buildings of the Business District in Level 2. Anything lower than that and you couldn't see the sky through the levels above.
She had caught glimpses of it last night too, although she'd been a little too distracted to really see it, to process it. Last night there had only been the roar of engines, the glare of headlights and flashes of laser-gun fire, all while a voice (voices?) screamed at her to stay on the bike, to keep going.
They'd lost the Dracs after what felt like a lifetime, after one of the runners helping them escape had whooped something that sounded like, “Zone Three, baby!” And when the bike beneath her started to slow she had felt herself sliding sideways, tumbling shoulder first into grit and heat.
She laid there for a moment, disoriented, as the sounds of voices and engines melted together. Her head buzzed and the headlights around her were too bright. Someone grabbed her under her arms in an attempt to get her to her feet, but suddenly her leg was burning beneath her and she couldn't stand, crumpling back onto the ground.
She awoke later, unaware she had even fallen unconscious at all. It was still dark, although there were bright spots of blurry light somewhere she couldn’t make out. The air was thick and hot and smelled like the Lobby, and for a moment panic and fear welled up in her chest at the thought that she’d ended up back in the City.
“Hey, it’s ok, we made it,” said a familiar voice, but the figure speaking remained blurry and dark. “We’re, well, not safe, but we’re out of the City at least. You were hit though. Took a pretty bad fall.”
She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but everything remained a dark blur. There was a soft touch to her shoulder, but she flinched away in pain anyway.
“Phoenix Witch is already looking out for you,” said another, unfamiliar voice. “You were almost roadkill out there.”
She tilted her head in confusion. “Where are we?”
“Container camp, Zone 3,” answered the unfamiliar voice. There was a soft clicking sound and suddenly light flared up around them, sending knives of pain right through her eyes. She snapped them shut and ducked her head away from the source.
“Might take a bit to adjust, you hit your head pretty hard,” the second voice added. “Your legs pretty bad off too. Did what I could, but those lasers cauterize better than anything I could do.”
She nodded, eyes still closed. She could feel it now, a burning ache around her left knee, a particular pulling and stiffness. Her skin on her shoulders and arms and face burned too, although in a more itchy, stinging way.
“Who are you?” she asked after a moment, slowly opening one eye to see the speaker. She didn’t recognize them as any of the ‘joys who’d helped them out of the City. She’d have remembered that shock of blue hair.
“Call me Road Rash,” the joy said with a mock salute. “Don't worry- you undergrads will earn your names and colors soon enough, if you make it that long.”
She risked a glance at her friend, who was frowning at the killjoy.
“We heard that from everyone in the Underground,” her friend said. “We know the odds.”
Road Rash shook their head. “Nah, you know the numbers. But you don't know the Zones. If you're smart, and incredibly lucky, you might make it a month.” They gestured towards her leg. “You're gonna have an even worse off time now. Not that it can't be done. Plenty have. Just makes things harder ”
She let out a nervous sigh, and her friend patted her softly on the shoulder. The killjoy shot her an amused look.
“Top left, it's hard out here. We’re fighting for survival.”
“And freedom,” her friend added.
Road Rash smiled. “And freedom. Just surviving out here is a big “Fuck you” to BL/ind though, never forget that. In the end it's always worth this. It's beautiful out here.”
“I want to see it.”
Road Rash raised an eyebrow at her. “You think you can do that?”
“It's not too soon? Shouldn't she let it heal?” Her friend asked.
The killjoy shrugged. “No time for that out here.”
“And no time like the fucking present I guess,” she said, starting to struggle to her feet. Her knee was stiff, pain burning all the way up to her hip, but she managed to get her opposing leg underneath herself and slowly lifted herself up, her friend watching carefully. Road Rash moved to one end of the metal shipping container, and with a loud screech of metal on metal the doors swung open, letting in a flood of orange light.
Road Rash turned back towards them, sly grin on their face. “You’re gonna love it out here.”
Slowly, painfully, her friend hovering beside her, she made her way towards the outside, both of them blinking against the light.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, the light outside so much brighter than that of the small lantern back in the container. She blinked, finding herself in the middle of a cluster of shipping containers, white paint dusty and peeling, the BL/ind logos covered by colorful graffiti art. A few others moved about the camp, but before she could process any more Road Rash gestured for them to follow, leading them around the back of the container.
And here she was standing now, staring out across the desert, the sky painted shades of purple and blue and pink and orange that she had never seen before, refracting off the sands and the few plants that spotted the landscape. It was as if the sky itself was a painting, all the colors banished from the city splashed across the clouds for the world to see.
She had never seen a sky like this.