Legends Never Die

Part 1 - Immortal Escape

Chapter 1 - Loaf of Life

The city. A glorious, wonderful place. A place for industry! And progress! Well- for most. Where those 'most' were- he didn't know. And it wasn't his place to know.

He was at the bottom of the food chain in this place, where the tall buildings pressed too tightly to one another. Just a minuscule speck between the old buildings that morphed into newer ones, because the owners wanted to make more money and added additions on top of additions. Some buildings were completely linked together in awkward places that created bridges over alleys, stretching upwards and towering above him, reminding him, like so many others, of how small he was.

But he didn't let it bother him. After all, it just meant more shade from the unrelenting sun.

He was traversing through one such alley, thin and mangled, tiptoeing past the broken bottles and trash that littered the path around him. By now, the stink of rotting or rusting waste had little affect on him. He'd become adept at training his sensitive nose to only pick up scents that were helpful.

One such scent was leading him now, as he peaked out of the dark alley to the busy street in front of him. Mobians big and small were rushing about, each individual ignoring the other as they went about their day, too busy to notice even their fellow peers, let alone a little boy hiding in the shadow of an alley.

He watched the flow of traffic for a while, wondering where each person was going and what they were supposed to do.

He shook his head, snapping himself out of his daydreaming. There was no time for that.

Tilting his head up he sniffed the air, filtering out the stench of the alley and focusing on the gentle, tantalizing smell of warm bread. He couldn't help salivating at just the thought of a fresh loaf of heavenly carbs. His stomach gurgled hungrily and he quickly pressed his hand against his gut, hoping to alleviate the dull ache that followed.

The scent was faint, but fresh. If he was careful, he might be able to do more than just pretend he was full that night.

Pulling the hood of his makeshift hoodie over his head he glanced both ways one more time before taking a breath and stepping out into the traffic. He turned right, keeping his head low as he weaved through the bustling strangers even though under the hood his eyes and ears were focused and alert. Most of the people here ignored him, the Working class too busy to bother with a scrappy boy, and the Undertow, the people like him who ambled about in rags and greasy fur, didn't see him as a potential profit.

Still, there were others he had to be watchful for.

He sniffed the air, pondering whether the scent was getting stronger or not. He walked a few more yards, and spun back around when the smell had dwindled to nonexistence. Wrong way.

He walked on, keeping his hands pressed close to his sides. The sun had begun to take its toll, the air under his hood becoming hot and stuffy. The yellow rays were beginning to seep through the old fabric, warming the quills on his back.

He nimbly side stepped, narrowly avoiding an oblivious wolf dressed in a light t-shirt and shorts. He'd learned early on that if you didn't want to become roadkill, you had to be light on your feet.

The sound of jangling metal made his ear twitch and he was instantly on high alert, lifting his head to better scan the crowd around him. The first red flag was the sudden lack of Undertow, and his head swiveled around, his gaze scouring the crowd.

A group of four Mobians, all dressed in sharp white and black uniforms, were heading towards him. Their tall, polished boots thumping against the pavement with each confident step.