"I've been in this city a couple of times. I can get us around, no problem," Sven said as he stepped toward the alley's edge. His voice was unusually calm, his posture confident.

He turned back, giving them a lazy wave. "Stay put. I'll be quick."

Then he was gone.

The moment he hit the sidewalk, his demeanour shifted. His posture loosened, eyes scanning the night crowd like a predator walking amongst prey. The city's chaos worked in his favour - cops were busy with the aftermath of Kai's rampage, and the streets buzzed with energy despite the late hour.

In less than five minutes, Sven had already relieved a dozen different people of their wallets without breaking stride. His fingers were so deft and fluid, that none of his targets even realised what had happened. He ducked into a shadowy alley, flipped through the wallets, grabbed the cash, and tossed the rest into a trash bin without so much as a second thought.

"Sorry, folks," he muttered under his breath, stuffing the bills into his pocket. "You'll get over it. Probably."

With the cash in hand, he hit a string of late-night vendors - clothes, toiletries, a duffel bag to carry everything in. Nothing fancy, just whatever he could find fast and cheap. He kept his head low, movements smooth, blending into the city's grime like he belonged there.

By the time he returned, only a few minutes had passed. The alley was still silent, the air thick with tension. Amina sat beside Isaac, who looked marginally better, while Nadya leaned against a brick wall, arms crossed, eyes distant.

Kai was where they'd left him - back against the wall, silent and brooding, his clothes still soaked in dried blood.

Without a word, Sven tossed him a bundle of clothes.

"Here. Figured you'd wanna stop looking like a serial killer."

Kai caught it and unfolded the shirt on top.

Plain white cotton. Printed in red block letters: I love NYC

He blinked.

Then tossed his bloodstained hoodie aside with a shrug.

He stripped off the rest of his ruined gear without ceremony, wiped what blood he could from his skin using a torn sleeve, and slipped into the clean, but slightly ridiculous, clothes Sven had picked.

He looked like a tourist who had wandered into a murder scene.

"Fits," he said simply.

Sven grinned. "Thought so."

Then his expression shifted. More serious than usual. "Follow me. Keep your heads down. Don't talk."

They obeyed without question.

Seeing Sven take charge with such ease was… weird but reassuring. For once, he wasn't making jokes or wandering off distracted. He was leading. Confident. Focused.

Reliable.

They stepped out of the alley and blended into the night.

The city was still buzzing, but starting to calm down. Bars were closing. Sirens echoed farther away now, fading into the distance. The group moved in a tight pack, brushing past late-night partygoers and vendors, heads low. Nobody paid them much attention - they just looked like another tired group of weirdos in a city full of them.

Eventually, Sven led them into a run-down neighbourhood on the outskirts of downtown. Broken street lamps flickered. The buildings looked ready to collapse. But the area was mostly empty, quiet.

Perfect.

They entered a cracked parking lot behind a crumbling corner store. Old vehicles sat scattered about, rusting and abandoned like relics from a forgotten age.

Sven's eyes lit up.

"There," he said, pointing to a blue van tucked in the far corner. It was hideous - rust crawling along its sides, one of the windows duct-taped shut, paint peeling like old skin.

But the engine looked intact.

In seconds, Sven was at the driver-side door, crouching beside it with a hairpin he'd plucked from who knows where.

Click.

He slid inside, ducked under the dash, and with a twist of wire-

VrrrRRRMM.

The engine coughed to life.

The others stared.

"Where the hell did you learn that?" Isaac asked, raising a brow.

Sven shot him a wink. "I've been around."

Nobody pushed further.

They climbed into the back, crammed in awkwardly as the van sputtered forward like a drunken beast. The seats creaked. The suspension was nonexistent. But it moved - and that's all that mattered.

After twenty minutes of winding through the outskirts, they pulled up to a decrepit motel on the edge of the city. The sign above flickered half-dead: "Wendy's Stay-Inn."

Not a single car in the lot.

Perfect.

The place looked abandoned, but lights were on in the main office. Sven stepped out first, entered, and immediately found himself facing the barrel of a shotgun.

Behind the counter stood a wrinkled old woman in a stained cardigan and slippers, her eyes cold and unblinking.

"Don't want trouble," she said flatly.

"Neither do I." Sven calmly placed a fat stack of bills on the counter.

She glanced down.

Grunted.

"Last room's on the right. That's all I got. No questions asked - as long as you don't make me regret it."

The shotgun vanished under the desk.

Sven gestured for the others to come in.

The room wasn't much - two narrow beds, stained carpet, a bathroom with cracked tiles - but they didn't complain. They'd slept in much worse over the past month. This was luxury by comparison.

And they were together. That mattered more than anything right now.

"Where'd you get all the money?" Amina finally asked.

Sven shrugged. "People were feeling generous."

Nobody laughed.

But nobody questioned it either.

"What about food?" Nadya asked, leaning against the wall.

The old woman behind the counter grunted again. "There's vending machines. Maybe a few snacks in the room, but it'll cost extra."

Sven dropped another wad of bills onto the desk without blinking.

"Take what you want," the old woman said, counting the cash without a word.

Kai, sitting on the bed with his blood-soaked clothes in a bag, finally spoke.

"You sure you weren't some kind of thief?"

Sven looked over his shoulder with a grin.

"Who says I'm not still one?"

They didn't laugh.

But for the first time that night, they smiled.

Just a little.

But the mood quickly turned sour, and thus began their bickering...

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