The Final Stand

The night doesn't end quietly.

It rips open.

The Dominion's sirens scream through the shattered streets

like a warning from a dying beast. Floodlights slice through the

fog as armored patrols swarm the ruins of what used to be a free

city. Every breath tastes like smoke and rust. My heartbeat is

too loud in my ears—steady, fast, ready.

We're not hiding anymore.

The Remnant stands scattered across the old bridge, faces

streaked with ash, eyes burning with the kind of fire that

no propaganda can snuff out. Below, the black river churns,

dragging broken machines downstream like bones in a current.

"Positions!" I hiss into the comm clipped to my collar. My voice

doesn't shake. Not anymore.