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Glass cubes dig into Xiazi's back, spread out on the asphalt like the tiles of a violently disassembled mosaic floor.
The smell of burnt rubber and heating metal is heavy in the air, though down here it might just be less cloying than if he were standing up. As is, the smoke is making his eyes tear up the moment Xiazi dares to open them.
Not that Xiazi has tried standing yet. Ears are ringing, he is dizzy as fuck! His entire side is aching with a dull roar that promises to become the mother of all bruises. Nothing broken, probably. Xiazi knows how to fall, even when flung across traffic like a rag doll. At least he is not getting gently toasted by the smoking wreck that is his former car on the other side of the road? Better to be road pizza than road barbecue, heh.
The car across from him, hood bent but not actively burning, settles with a groan, headlines flickering for a moment before coming back on full blast. One of these newer models with with xenon lighting, horrible technology that gives Xiazi a headache even with his sunglasses. Now, at arms length distance, directly aimed at him, shades lost in the chaos fuck-knows-where, the light is hot needles burrowing into Xiazi's skull, makes him wish he'd broken his neck after all. Or maybe join the spares in barbecue hell.
Twice as bright as any lamp made by sane people, it blinds him thoroughly, wipes out the smears of shapes and colours around and replaces them with pure white agony. Eyes flinched closed immediately, doesn't matter, his lids might as well be burned off already, eyeballs disintegrated like cobwebs by the anger of a vengeful deity reaching into the back of his head and filling it with FIRE-
With a wretched sound, Xiazi tries to curl up, get away from the assault of what might as well be the entire sun glaring down on him. He can't. Huh. That's where car three went. Might explain the bruising pain in his side. Xiazi's wedged in good, lucky he's not been crushed probably. Flailing an arm to get leverage, his elbow rams into dented metal with a resounding clang.
Xiazi lets loose a string of expletives he might be embarrassed about in better times, zero points for creativity but HOLY SHIT that rattled up the bone to his teeth. Flops back down and at least manages to wrap both hands over his eyes to try and fend off the light.
It's not perfect, in-between the gaps of his fingers there is still light stabbing in. But. Blinding pain, yes. But he can breathe. Becomes aware enough to hear shouts in the distance, thumps of the driver across trying to get his car door to open, probably.
The tinny strains of opera from somewhere to the left, marking the miracle of his crappy old phone surviving enough to ring? That's alright then. Hua'er probably has him chipped and tracked anyway.