Jason skidded to halt, teetering for a sickening moment on the edge of a crevasse ripped into the asphalt. He flailed his arms and stumbled back, his heart catching in his throat.
He was trapped.
They were upon him.
The men rounded the street corner, breathing hard, rage in their eyes at first that melted into relief, which melted into malevolence when they saw that Jason was stuck.
“We gotcha kid, just give it back,” the one in the middle with a grimy leather trench coat commanded.
I didn’t budge, my back to the edge.
“We don’t want to hurt you,” said another with scratched glasses and ripped business shirt clinging to his frame.
“Speak for yourself buddy, I know I do,” growled the last one, his lean, cut muscles flexing as he plucked a brick off the debris covered ground. Jason glanced over his shoulder, checking his outs. He could try to fight the men… and die. He could try to run: forward was… death, and backward – he peaked back down the dark crag – was more death.
“Hey! Put that down, we’re not hurting him,” Glasses ordered.
“Says who?” questioned Muscles. “The skinny office jockey? Don’t make me laugh, this little rat gets what he deserves.”
“What gives you the right?” retorted Glasses.
“Right? The freakin’ kid punched me where the sun don’t shine! I got every right!”

Jason smirked. “I hope you don’t plan on having kids.”

Muscles turned red. “Why I oughta-”

“Frank!” Glasses yelled.

Trench Coat put his hands up. “Would you shmucks, so kindly, please, shut up?”
Jason eyed him; his hard eyes and unshaven face had already been through enough before the quakes had happened – he was obviously in charge.

He slowly started approaching Jason. “Last time kid, I don’t want this to get ugly either, just hand it over and we’ll leave you be.” Jason felt the weight of his prize sitting in his backpack. He wouldn’t give it up for anything.
Trench Coat reached into his jacket and flipped out a switchblade, its edge glinting in the half-light. Muscles brandished his brick and Glasses watched uneasily.
“Come on guys, he’s just –” Glasses began.
Trench Coat silenced him with a hiss. “Shut it, Mark!”
They started moving in closer, feral survival glinting in their eyes. “It’s in his backpack,” Muscles pointed out. Trench Coat approached from the right while the other closed in from the left. Jason had nowhere to run.
“Make sure he doesn’t fall off the edge, or all this would have been a waste,” Trench Coat advised Muscles.
Muscles smiled cruelly, showing several empty slots where teeth should have been. “I’m gonna do so much more than just punch you in the crotch kid. Much, much more.”
Jason started reaching for his backpack, about to give in, when suddenly a slight tremor faintly vibrated the earth. He paused. Oh no, he thought.
The two armed me hadn’t even noticed, so absorbed in Jason’s future maiming. Glasses shifted uneasily. “Guys –”
Trench Coat twisted around. “What did I say, Mark? Did I give you permission to speak?”
Mark backed up. “No, but –”
“Then shut up!” Trench Coat roared as he focused back on Jason, going back into predator mode along with Muscles. There was another tremor.
“Guys!” Mark called urgently, but was ignored. “Come on, seriously, it’s happening again!”
Trench Coat looked Jason dead in the eye. “Last chance,” He uttered.
Jason spat on the man’s shoes.
He growled and coiled to pounce when a ripping, tearing, earthshaking wave of tectonic energy hit the entirety of the city. The world shook and tilted as waves passed through the ground under their feet. Debris fell from the already unstable towers and ruble on the street vibrated.
Jason knew it was his chance. He half dashed - half stumbled past Trench Coat who was staring up at the towers around them, expecting one to fall. But Muscles was fixated, and he chased Jason into the intersection that they’d came from. Jason sprinted as best he could, trying to put some distance between him and the crazed man.
Suddenly there was another immense ripping as a crack tore into the asphalt in front of Jason. He reeled back as the gap started growing and he glanced over his shoulder – Muscles was still following. A few derelict towers down the street crumbled into dust, imploding in on themselves, concrete crunching against metal. The gap in the street continued to grow – it would be too big soon.
Jason was going to have to jump it.
The earth reached a tilting climax, as if it was trying to tear itself apart. Heavy dust, silt, and falling hunks of concrete filled the air. Jason stumbled back and placed his footing as best he could on the hurling ground. Muscles was only a few yards away.
Jason exploded, pushing off each foot with as much force possible. He reached the edge and launched himself, soaring through the air and flailing his arms in circles. He wasn’t sure if was going to make it, almost there, almost -
Impact.
His body collided with the ground and shock slithered through his bones and organs. He tumbled end over end and came to stop safely away from the edge. He laid there for a moment, sputtering in the dust clinging to his face and floating in the air, not believing his luck.
The tilting and shifting stopped finally, suddenly. Clouds of fine dust and what else Jason didn’t even want to think about hung in the air, giving the sunlight an ambient red hue.
Muscles glared in frustration from across the street spanning fissure. “You’re dead, kid! I’ll find you, and I’ll kill you!”
There was suddenly a cracking sound, not like the quake, but like if a mountain suddenly split in half. The man looked up in terror as the tower behind him listed to the side. He looked around, trapped by the cracks in the earth on either side. Mark and Trench Coat appeared next to him, realizing the situation, wide eyed.
“This is your fault, Mark!” Trench coat bereted.
The air creaked as the concrete supports and steel skeleton of the tower strained to keep the structure up, but it had been under too much stress, too much fatigue – they couldn’t take any more punishment.
The three men twisted around with pleading eyes like animals backed into a corner and gaped at Jason, somehow hoping for help.
Jason’s expression hardened as he met each of their eyes, not saying a word. He spat on the ground, causing Muscles to snarl savagely.
The massive tower started sickening leaning forward.
That was enough for Jason. He dived into the nearest shell of a building and huddled behind a counter as the sky fell. He heard it rush through the air on its downward arc as it’s screeching drowned out the shouts of the three men standing in its way from the heavens to the earth.
Jason didn’t even hear the impact – he was instantly deafened by hundreds of tons of concrete, glass, and metal crushing the street. He pulled his kerchief over his mouth and watched out the doorway as the inevitable wall of dust roared past. He screwed his eyes shut as it flooded his shelter.
Minutes later – or hours, he couldn’t tell – he emerged. The dust had semi-settled and the earth hadn’t rumbled in a while. His ears rung lightly and he only took a moment to glance at the tower that now blocked the street – a mass of glittering glass and steel. He didn’t want to think about what happened to the men. He coughed, and remembering his prize, zipped open his backpack, reached in and grasped the soft, warm plastic
A water bottle.
That’s what the men were going to kill him for.
He slowly twisted the cap off and sipped, savoring the pure, clean liquid as it cleared the dirt and dust clinging to his throat, making sure to stop himself from gulping it all at once.
He turned at looked at the sign standing above his shelter: Times Square Tickets, it read. Taking one last look at the fallen tower, he re-shouldered his pack and set off, traversing the open square, not sure as to where he was going.