CHAPTER TWO: MACHINESMITH

It's a great day for a run.

Matt pinpointed the edge of the roof and dove into a safety roll, coming up easily to his feet and sprinting across the rooftop. The incessant metallic buzzing in his ears was the only thing reminding him that he wasn't out for a joyride.

There is that little matter of the fifteen drones aimed at my back with laser sights-the ones that are zoned in like a freaking magnet on my head! A shot pinged into the A/C unit next to him and Matt vaulted over it and then dove to the side as the drones riddled the unit full of holes.

Broken A/C in the middle of the heat bubble in New York. That's gonna suck. He shook his head even as he clambered to the opposite edge of the roof and made for the fire escape one of the shots had ricocheted off-thanks for giving me my exit- and used the balls of his boots and the palms of his hands to slide down the ladder rather than climb it. His boots hit metal grating, and based on the sounds of traffic below him, he was at least fifteen stories up. He listened, heard the flaps of some shirts on a line stringing across the alley below him, and dropped over the side of the fire escape as the drones came pouring over the roof edge.

It was fun…but it was also getting a little too warm for Matt's taste temperature-wise. Sweat under his the cowl of his suit was distracting and the UnderArmour he wore to keep the suit from rubbing against his skin was starting to feel wet.

So. Matt heard shredded fabric, smelled Downy fabric softener in the warm wind as the clothesline came loose and he dropped to the balcony of another apartment-unoccupied, thank God-and leapt sideways.

A few of the drones couldn't make the sudden bank, and he heard three very satisfying crashes with accompanying bursts of heat against brick.

Broke his toys. Machinesmith is gonna be pissed. Matt used the metal balconies as his own personal jungle gym, weaving back and forth between them, dropping down, or crawling back up, listening and counting down in his head as the drones either couldn't compensate and crashed, or kept unloading on him. Luckily, he had the time between the ammo figured so that when they did shoot at him, it was never into someone's apartment. There was always a little bit of a whirr and a click before they started unloading on him.

Bottom of the alley was getting close. He could smell rank Dumpster garbage and everything else that came with a New York City alley. His boots hit the ground and it took him a split second to figure out which way was closest to the street. How in the hell are they still following me? No way does he have line of sight, so there must be-

He heard the low pitched buzzing in his ears even as the drones shot at him again. One tried to bury itself in his cowl, another in his chestplate. Streetlight. Junction box. Matt ran for it as the remaining drones took off after him. He pulled his baton from the leg holster and launched one end at the junction box. It erupted in a shower of sparks, and the heat signal it gave off was enough to draw the drones right to it. The rest of them exploded, the heat and sound screwing with Matt's senses as he twisted himself out of the way and out into the street.

Directly into the path of an oncoming laundry truck. The truck glanced off the armor at his hip and sent Matt sprawling to the street. And of course, it being New York City, the truck cruised on down the street.

Matt stood, wobbling slightly. Limping. Not so much fun.