Witch runs across a black and lifeless plain, the dead earth crumbling beneath her pumping feet. She is fast, inhumanly so, but so is the Fury. Her breath hammers at the ventilator replacing her mouth. 4 minutes until the force field collapses, and the rage machines pour through the Hole, out for blood.
4 minutes never seemed so long.
Ahead, cover. Machines the old world called “cars”, stacked in a rusting heap. Why? No time to wonder.
She ducks into cover, diverting power to her cloak. She disappears.
The Fury stops dead. Sniffs the air.
Begins the hunt.