Jax laughed. "You don't. You run. You roll. You get clapped by a jetpack player with a flamethrower. Then you respawn at the hospital and do it all over again."
The morning sun barely kissed the rooftops of Southridge when Jax heard the first siren. He didn't flinch — nobody did. In Graal Era, sirens were just another layer of the street beat, right behind car alarms and the distant pop-pop of a tommy gun.
Jax pulled down his bandana — colors — and grinned. "That's the era , rookie. Welcome to Graal."
The kid frowned. "That's the game?"
"First day?" Jax asked one of the new arrivals — a kid gripping a rusty butterfly knife like it was Excalibur.
"Yeah. Where do I get a car?"
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