The desert suns set blood red behind us as Mara and I race back to the camp, feet pounding against stubborn rock and shifting sand. Above, the sky burns with bruises of twilight and the distant hum of incoming threats shakes the very air.
Behind us, the shaky transmissions from the Core's echo still echo in my mind, a relentless reminder that our war is far from over. Every step feels heavier, the ground beneath us trembling as if warning of deeper fractures still to come.
Mara's hand tightens on mine, fierce and unwilling to let go. "They're coming," she warns. "Corporations, mercs—whatever's left. The Core's signal is a beacon, and they answered the call."
I swallow, tasting the grit in my mouth, but I nod. "Then we fight smarter."
We breach camp perimeter as alarms shatter the night, voices roaring commands, refugees scrambling to arms. Reza and the others rally defenses, but fear is a sharp blade cutting through every line.
"Set the perimeter!" I shout, breath ragged but steady. "Prepare the decoys—we need false signals to scatter them."
Mara moves past me, already weaving through the chaos with the poise of a shadow hunter. Her fingers flick across wrist gadgets, sending pulses to scramble enemy scanners. The aura shimmering beneath her skin pulses with power and will—they don't realize yet who they've come for.
From behind rusted vehicles, mercenaries emerge, brandishing weapons that hiss with energy. Their eyes are wild, minds warped by promise and programming alike.
Bullets ignite the air in bursts of fire and thunder. Mara's voice calls my name as she ducks and weaves, a dancer in this brutal ballet.
I crawl toward a dormant turret, fingers fumbling over triggers, praying it still lives. The first drone shrieks overhead—metal wings cutting the darkness. I squeeze the switch, releasing a volley that tears through the swarm, metal twisting in sparks and smoke.
Chaos screams around us—every suppressed scream, every desperate breath folded into the night's desperate fight.
Suddenly, Mara dives, catching me as a grenade detonates between us. The shockwave throws us sprawling, sand coating shattered glass and oil.
"Adrian!" Her voice is a lifeline, pulling me back from black edges.
I grasp her wrist, heart hammering in pain and relief. "We can't stop this alone."
She nods fiercely, spit flecking her chin. "We bring the fight to them—cut their connection."
With grim precision, we race toward the command center—old comm towers half-swallowed by desert sands but pulsing faintly with borrowed life. Mara hacks the terminal, her hands steady even as sweat and dirt streak her face.
"Almost there," she breathes.
I watch her eyes flash—silver with code, human with resolve.
The network shakes, a living thing resisting its own death.
A final surge floods the circuits. The enemy falters—systems fragment like brittle glass.
We collapse together in a tangle of dust, sweat, and fleeting victory.
Her breath mingles with mine, ragged but real. "This is just the beginning," she whispers.
I nod, holding her tighter. The storm outside may rage on, but in her arms, I find the quiet courage to face whatever echoes are left—knowing together, we shape the future.