written in the stars
The gondola's gears whir to life, his Scroll's access codes causing the machinery to spring to action. His stomach tumbles slightly as he feels the ground beneath his feet begin to shift, raising him higher along the line to the lowermost levels of Atlas. The crane which operates this lift is massive, the column leading them high above even the highest buildings in Mantle within moments; he will never be accustomed to this distance, to his engrained fear of the inevitable fall.
However, for the first time, he does not focus upon the sheer magnitude of the elevator lift's reach; instead, he can only look upon the cityscape above, for it is still pure and untouched by the Tar. Even from this distance, he can see the shimmer of white buildings. Although there are fires raging, plumes of smoke billowing from Atlas Academy's towers, it is still clear that it is nowhere near as badly affected as the rest of Remnant.
James, you bastard, he thinks bitterly, you've been hiding up here, haven't you? Goddamned coward.
"On your left," Clover says, breaking him out of his thoughts. He sounds utterly defeated, the perfect mirror to Qrow's own exasperation as the man lifts his blade, firing off shots against incoming Manticores flying towards him upon the lift. He jumps out of the way as the very air seems to tear in two, Beowolves stepping out of each rift with their hulking forms and dripping maws. "We never get any goddamn peace, do we?"
That would be too damn easy, Clover, Qrow retorts silently. As it is, he simply brings the blade up to his forehead and closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath as the world stills, as the program pauses- as the Grimm halt in their tracks, giving him time to plan his assault.
Soon enough, the battle is won. He pants from the exertion as the gondola rolls to a halt. He totters out of the lift the moment the protective railings come down, granting him access to the lower levels of Atlas; the streets are smoothly paved still, not a single destroyed car or processed body to be seen. It seems calm, when all is said and done.
Suddenly, a strange noise catches his attention; he glances up, trying to locate the source of what was undeniably a bark. Are animals still left in the city?
He can feel the blood draining away from his face as a giant, hound-like Grimm steps out from around the corner, stalking towards them on all fours like a proper hellhound. Of course it wouldn't be Grimm-free, even if it isn't processed yet.
"Oh, great," Clover mutters. He pauses, likely searching the Harbinger for information. "It's classified as a Sabyr." Raising his voice, he cries, "Down, boy! We don't wanna hurt-"
The beast is cleaved in two before Clover can finish his sentence. Qrow has no time nor energy to play these games; after all, as he looks at the wall, he can see the count continuing to drop alongside the hope in his gut, and it will make him retch here and now if he does not keep moving, if he does not keep running.
They do not need to discuss their plans. It is easy enough to cut through to the next gondola which can carry them upwards simply by cutting through Dr. Pietro Polendina's clinic- the physician and inventor had been a friend of Clover's, an acquaintance of Qrow's, and his office is tucked far enough out of the way of the main streets that they shall likely be able to find even a modicum of respite there. So, Qrow runs, cutting down the Grimm without hesitation as he tears his way through these lower streets of Atlas.
Dr. Polendina's clinic is just as neat and tidy as ever. There is a small bowl of candy upon the counter; absentmindedly, Qrow pops a pear-flavoured candy drop into his mouth, sighing in relief as the sweetness perks him up a little. However, the clinic itself is painfully empty.
"I hope he wasn't processed," Clover murmurs wearily. "He… he's a good man."
Qrow does not bear any hope for the man's survival, for his eyes are drawn to the holoscreen projected alongside one wall in the waiting room of the small clinic. The message on the screen is clear, the loop of the recent news updates blaring starkly in the white room, casting a neon-green tinge upon the wall- sickly, deathly, foreboding.
'Reports are showing that 66% of Remnant has been corrupted by this mysterious assault on the world's code."
They do not exchange words about this. Qrow merely chews, shattering the hard candy in his mouth. It is not nearly as satisfying as it should be; so, he forces his way to the back exit of the clinic, pushing through fire doors and kicking away a Creep waiting outside the back alley before it has the chance to bite into him.
"We're close, Qrow," Clover says, his voice as calming and determined as ever as they turn back onto the last stretch of road before the next station. "Let's head ou-"
And suddenly, his voice drops off, the pitch altered as if with an unseen knob. The clock face alights, then darkens, lights up, darkens-
Qrow's blood runs cold as he looks down at the blade, but it is not the distinctly red hue creeping into the clock face that terrifies him, nor is it the fact that Clover begins to slur almost drunkenly, his voice crackling with static, "Q-Qrow… I feel… kinda funny," with little oblivious chuckles in between.
It is the giant shadow that suddenly dims his vision, passing above them so quickly that Qrow does not even have a chance to look up at regard what is so large it can blot out even the light of the fires consuming the world. Something is out there.
Qrow runs, and he does not look up. He knows where to go- he shall take Clover there safely, he swears it.