Curtis ran from the raggedy man, leaving his goods behind. He knew that men that wore rags were covering up their plague-cursed body. If he caught the plague the villagers would never let him inside the settlement. He was a Scrounger and he couldn’t afford to be banned from any village, much less a thriving one like Falcon’s Point.

He stopped to catch his breath. Plagueborn didn’t tend to be fast but he didn’t take unnecessary chances either. He’d have to write off the gear. It hurt, but it was only minor inconvenience compared to oozing sores or death.

A pulse of bright white energy into the sky caught his attention. The Midway Tower was still firing something. Whatever it was, it was new.

The sound of dragging feet ended Curtis’ break. He ran further this time, crashing through untamed brush and stumbling over broken pavement. He came to a stumbling halt overlooking the ground far below that moved like water.

The problem with living on an aeropoli, was that sometimes, there was just nowhere to go.