Seizing the moment of panic, you bolt into the surging crowd, your temporal alloy dagger pulsing warm against your thigh. The shifting colors of citizens' clothing create a dazzling camouflage as you weave between bodies that smell faintly of synthetic lavender and ionized air. Behind you, the armored figures push through the crowd with mechanical precision, their visors scanning methodically.

You duck into a narrow service corridor between two pulsating buildings, the walls alive with bioluminescent circuitry. The hum of anti-gravity vehicles thrums overhead as you press against the wall, watching through the crowd's legs as your pursuers fan out. One kneels beside your wrecked time machine, running a glowing scanner over its surface.

The corridor leads to a vertical market stacked dozens of levels high, each platform connected by floating staircases that rearrange themselves periodically. Vendors hawk impossible wares - memory crystals containing other people's experiences, tiny black holes contained in decorative cages, neural interfaces that promise 'authentic historical emotions.' Your boots stick slightly to the organic-looking floor as you move deeper into the market's belly.

A sudden hush falls over the nearest crowd. Through the forest of shifting limbs, you see the four armored figures have entered the market, their weapons drawn. The one who recognized you taps its visor, and suddenly every advertisement screen in the vicinity flashes with your face alongside bold red symbols. The crowd's murmurs take on a dangerous edge as hundreds of eyes turn in your direction.