Fugitives of the Malluland

My buddy the coconut enthusiast and a random no face guy and I are driving down a scenic single road highway through the forests in god's own country. The red '65 Mustang gleamed under the setting orange sun.

A cop stops us, leans in to look into the open car, disappointed at finding nothing suspicious, he waves his hand away. A little ways down the road, closer to a city, we get pulled over again. This time, there's more cops around, they all look busy. Our stopper copper starts asking questions, random questions, which our native tea enjoyer takes up as an invitation to yap and goes off. There's a sudden break in the conversation, the copper hoping the yapper keeps going, the yapper breaks a sweat hoping the copper waves his hand away again.

He does but not before grabbing my arm to directly ask me a question, I hesitate to answer. Yapper swoops in to answer while signalling the no face guy to keep going slowly. Our arms slowly unraveled, tension hanging between us as we pulled away. The cop pulls his radio up and mutters something into it, gives us a weird smile and gestures bye bye.

As we're clearing the roadblock, a non descript black car takes the road in front of us. Subtly guiding us through to where it wants us to go, stopping and speeding to throw us off. Our Avyakta driving the car is suspicious and with a bit of clever maneuvering, loses them as we head into the city. We drive around in metaphorical circles to confuse and throw the second car off our trail as well. Avkyata stops the car, says he'll divert them and that it would be better if we get on foot and figure out what to do next. We agree, Cheta and I get down, place mannequins in our seats with our hoodies and send him off.

After a brief dialogue as to whether we should run out of the city or deeper inside, we decide on blending in with the crowds. Making our way through the bustling market and on to the more crowded, poorer part of the city wasn't our best idea. A higher crime rate usually means more cops around. New plan! We get into an alleyway, find a ladder and make our way on to the roof. It's unlike anything I've ever seen, the rooftop stretches uninterrupted for several kilometers in each direction. Only mildly varied in their heights, making it easy to walk to anywhere. As we start walking and look down through a crevice at the city, its streets overcrowded, the experience of it overwhelming. A thought popped into my head "Why don't more people use the roof? Why do they choose the floor?"

A loud thud snaps me out of my thoughts. Cheta has tripped and fallen to the ground. We're running, why were we running? "The Heat!"

He stands up dusting himself off... We can't keep this up, it's too hot and even otherwise, naavibre irodu, not exactly a hiding spot, we're visible to everyone up here.

I MAY have a way out, if it doesn't work out, we'll have to improvise.

None of our plans have been working out. How is this any different?

We start running again, open a hatch and start going down a ladder. Passing through literal houses, living/bedrooms of people. We pass through dimly lit, cramped living spaces, each floor the environment becoming more oppressive. About half the way down from the city, a familiar face welcomes us, Krisbot has just joined a new job in the city and waiting for a home allotment. Cheta and I decided to take a break and sit down. He offers us some tea. Hot cutting chai in the middle of summer, dust in our noses, sweating all over, we light smokes, what better way to take a break?

All my sources are saying there's a curfew in the city, not just for you but some other people as well. I suggest you contact your guy and go out the hard way.

And so we start climbing the ladders again. This time though, we don't stop at floor level. We're 5 stories below the floor.

Dude, where are we going? Are you sure this is the way?

We're just 1 more floor away, just trust me.

We open the hatch to a serious man with a thick mustache dawning a bowler hat and a pocket watch. Spits his chewing tobacco, lights a cigar, blows smoke in our faces.. You're late! The sun is setting, we have to move quick.

We start walking towards the mustachioed man's luggage, right outside what seems like an endless dark parking lot with only a handful of pillars here and there. We get to the "outside" - we'd just gotten out of the city from the overhanging building district, and into the wastelands in between cities. There's no police, no fugitives, no law and most importantly, no life out here.

We gear up with excessive clothing to keep ourselves safe from the fumes and irradiated pieces of lands here and there. Wear our sand skis and start traveling through the deadland, an echo of what was once a booming civilization.