Wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe. just lucky.

The sirens wailed, systems crashed, and bass detonated like gunfire in a collapsing city. Spyre slipped through the chaos, a grin cutting through the smoke.

Every breakbeat was a near miss, every drop a bullet dodged. But somehow, he kept moving-faster, sharper, deadlier.

Was it skill? Instinct? Or just one hell of a Lucky Day?