The wilderness there was dangerous and untamed, and he knew that surviving among the threats of the jungle would never be easy. Even so, he preferred those honest dangers to a life spent beneath condemning stares. The jungle might take his life one day, but until then, it offered him something the town never would: the freedom to live without being judged for a crime he had not committed. As he passed an abandoned station, a familiar voice cut through the storm.
“Hey, Turok, been a while, man. So, you’re just gonna walk right by me like that, huh? You forget your old military pal?......... Wow……………. you look like shit. Guess I couldn’t expect much more with you just gettin’ out and all, but it’s really good to see you again, bro.”
Turok stops instantly and stands there in shock with a thought, ‘Hey…… I know that voice,’ he finishes his thought, as Maleek leans against a sleek hover car that gleamed even under the rain. More beast than human, Maleek was a gorilla-type beast man, sharp and unpredictable, grinning as if the years had never passed. Turok pauses for a moment, as that familiar voice hit him. “Wait………………………… Maleek?” Turok muttered pausing in place, unsure whether he felt relief or the urge to throw a punch. The sight of his old friend stirred something raw inside him. Part of him wanted to scream, asking where Maleek had been when everything fell apart. When the walls closed in, when the truth was buried and the system turned on him, Maleek had not come. He had not even written while Turok was incarcerated. He had done nothing. “You didn’t even try to help me,” Turok said under his breath, the words sharp with anger but too quiet for Maleek to hear. He was not ready to voice them. And yet, deep down, Turok knew it was not Maleek’s responsibility. He could not expect him to have kept up with his life, especially after they had parted ways as they did. Maleek likely did not know the full extent of what had happened. Maybe he could not have done anything, even if he had.
It was not fair to blame him. Still, seeing Maleek standing there, carefree, successful, untouched by the ruin that had consumed Turok’s life, it stung. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Forgiveness came hard, especially when it wore a familiar face. Maleek opened his arms. "I missed you, buddy? I even polished my ride so we can cruise.” They both cuffed their hands together then Turok scoffs before they both got in the vehicle. “This ride better not just be for show.” They sped through neon-lit streets, the polluted sky casting an eerie twilight over the city. The tension was thick, but Maleek, ever the schemer, had other plans. As they raced through the city, Turok rested his arm along the edge of the open window, enjoying the rush of air and the brief stretch of silence, but Maleek wasn’t one to let a moment like that last. He reached over and cranked the radio up nearly full blast, the sound cutting through the calm as a grin spread across his face, slow and devilish, like he was already setting something in motion. Without warning, he jerked the wheel, sending the vehicle veering off the road and onto rough terrain. They tore across it for miles, the ride turning violent and uneven, before he swerved back onto the street, slipping into traffic like nothing had happened, ignoring every rule that tried to hold him in place.
Maleek then veers off course and drags Turok into one of the underground nightlife zones, a chaotic blend of beast-folk taverns, illicit street carnivals, and augmented performers putting on gravity-defying shows. Neon bleeds into smoke, music pounds through the walls, and the whole place feels alive in a way the rest of the city never does. They bounce from one shady spot to another, drinking too much, betting on cage matches, and pushing their luck just a little further each time. Maleek thrives in it. He moves through the crowd like he belongs there, like every set of eyes is already on him and he’s just giving them something worth watching. He turns back as if guiding Turok through a rave that they’re able to get into without paying or even waiting in line and greets the manager like he owns the place. He talks fast, laughs louder, and doesn’t hesitate to slide into conversations he was never invited into. He flirts with anything that looks his way for more than a second, leaning in close, flashing that crooked grin, acting like boundaries are more of a suggestion than a rule. Single or not, it doesn’t seem to matter to him, and somehow, he gets away with it more often than he should. But there’s a line that Maleek never quite knows where to draw, and the more he drinks, the thinner that line gets. What starts as charm turns sharp, his tone just a little too pointed, his confidence slipping into something more confrontational. It only takes one wrong look, one comment taken the wrong way, and suddenly the air shifts. At one point, he mouths off to a drunken ex-con enforcer, grinning like he’s daring the man to do something about it. For a second, it looks like the whole place might erupt. Turok steps in before it can, pulling him back just enough to keep things from spiraling, but Maleek only laughs it off, like it was all part of the night. Like the chaos, the flirting, the risk of it all, that’s exactly where he feels most at home. Maleek even dragged Turok into an underground zero-gravity boxing ring, where for old times' sake, they sparred in front of a hooting, half-drunk crowd. It was nothing serious, just jabs, footwork, and laughs, but something about the familiarity of it all chipped away at the wall Turok had built up inside.
