"..."
"..."
"..."
Chad sits in the dark green tent, on the white bed, his feet resting on the ground. Though faint voices and chatter drift from outside, the tent feels mostly quiet and undisturbed. Yet his mind is a storm of chaos and noise.
All he can think about are the events of the past two days, events that have turned his life upside down and might change the lives of everyone on the planet. The chaos, the terror, the horrific sights he's witnessed, each one has left him irreparably changed.
He recalls the moment when he and Neil left the Empire State Building, leaving his best friend behind, or at least what was left of him, on top of the building. They stepped outside, still cautious of any danger that might appear, but the streets were eerily silent.
The constant exposure to explosions, screams, gunfire, and murder, witnessing blood and dead bodies over the past two days, has numbed their senses. Now, even though distant helicopters can be heard in the background, a moment of silence feels surprisingly peaceful.
The terrorists seem to have fled, taking their weapons and gear, driving the trucks away, and heading for underground tunnels they likely planned to use for escape. How professional they were, when they arrived, no one noticed; when they left, there wasn't a sound.
It's clear that being a terrorist is a profession, and these ones are experts. The careful planning that allowed such a large-scale attack to go smoothly, unnoticed by the authorities, couldn't have been the work of an angry teenager or someone dissatisfied with life in the Middle East.
But the quiet that soothed their ears is now replaced by horrific scenes that torment their eyes. Lying on the ground are the lifeless bodies of a dozen terrorists, all clustered on one side as if they had taken cover during an intense gunfight. It seems the battle happened just moments before the forcefield vanished.
But who? Who could have confronted the terrorists in such a way, killing at least ten of them before they could make their escape?
Chad and Neil take a dozen steps closer, moving toward where they believe the attackers had been. As they approach, the sight of two familiar dead bodies stops them cold, leaving them speechless and paralyzed.
"Nick... Mike..."
How could they not realize? How could Neil not recognize them at first glance?
Though they had known Mike for less than a day, he had quickly proven himself both helpful and entertaining. Despite being a scaredy-cat, he had brought levity to their group in a way that made him easy to like. If none of this had happened, he could have been a great friend.
And Nick—Nick was one of Neil's oldest and closest friends. They had served together, fought side by side, and trusted each other with their lives. Neil knows Nick wasn't the type to run from a fight. And true to that, both he and Mike stayed behind to fight, even though they were outnumbered, even though they were terrified. They fought to buy time—for the president, for the girls. Neil knows this with absolute certainty.
And there they lie, their eyes still open. Nick has a gaping hole in his head, his shoulder resting against the wall of a building. Mike lies on the ground, his left side entirely gone—obliterated, as if something exploded next to him, scorching his left half, including his arm and face, into blackened ash.
Neil feels a mix of strangeness and horror. The sheer brutality of Mike's death unsettles him more than Nick's, and questions flood his mind. How did this happen? What kind of weapon could kill Mike so violently and burn his left half to dust?
Explosives usually shred bodies into pieces, leaving organs exposed but still red and intact, not charred black like this—unless it's something like napalm. The longer Neil looks, the stranger the scene becomes. Nick's rifle remains intact, slung on his body, but Mike's weapon lies shattered into unrecognizable pieces.
A torrent of questions rushes through Neil's mind, countless mysteries he wants to unravel. But right now, none of that matters. All he knows is that these two men stayed and fought, even at the cost of their lives. As their friend and comrade, it is his duty to lay them to rest.
Neil kneels down, placing his fingers gently on their eyes, and closes them.
"Let's go, Chad. We've got a long way ahead."
He stands, grips his rifle firmly, and starts moving. Unlike Chad, Neil is a soldier. He understands and is familiar with scenes like this. From the moment they committed to this plan, Neil knew this could happen. He just hadn't expected it to be this devastating.
Neil doesn't cry, his tears dried long ago, but his heart aches, a pain sharper than any knife, as he looks at the lifeless bodies of those who were once close to him.
For Chad, though he has grown somewhat accustomed to witnessing death, he still can't bear it, especially when it's their friends lying dead. Only now does he truly understand Jenny's feelings, her fear and hopelessness when she watched Sally, her best friend, die horribly, unable to do anything to save her.
The memory will haunt him forever, likely dragging him into a deep depression. All of this happened because of him, because of his plan to stop the terrorists in the first place.
As they jog through the quiet streets of New York, heading toward the military base or a field hospital just beyond the forcefield barrier for safety, they occasionally glance back at the damaged buildings, where their friends gave their lives. Holding back their tears, they push forward with what little strength remains.
...
A short while after they start running, they spot an UH-60 Black Hawk Helicopter heading toward the Empire State Building. They had heard the helicopter earlier but hadn't expected it to be coming for them. The soldiers on board are cautious at first, ordering both of them to raise their hands and drop their weapons.
They obey the order, raising their hands and dropping their weapons. After a moment of reconsideration, a soldier realizes they match the description the President gave— a teenage boy and a male veteran with a beard and a white shirt. It seems the President made it to safety and didn't forget to send the army to pick them up. What a thoughtful leader.
The helicopter lands, and they're quickly boarded. The troops disembark to secure the Empire State Building while the helicopter carries Chad and Neill back to the field operation area, just outside the forcefield barrier on the other side of the Hudson River. That's how they reach the field hospital.
As Chad sits in a helicopter for the first time, it weaves through the towering buildings of a metropolitan city slowly recovering from the worst terrorist attack in history. Below, people try to restore their lives—some receiving treatment for injuries, while others are lost forever. The near-winter wind bites at his face, but amidst the chaos, Chad feels a glimmer of relief. It's finally over. He can return to his normal student life—a life of gossiping about girls, hanging out with friends, getting bad grades, and bickering with other students... right? Right?
...
...
...
Sitting alone in one of the field hospital tents, after the doctors have treated him and left him to rest, dark thoughts and depression begin to creep into Chad's mind. Though he knows Jenny and Selena are safe, as the pilot had told him the President evacuated with two teenage girls before they arrived, his thoughts aren't with them.
Because humans tend to forget the living and obsess over the dead. His mind is consumed by one name: Roy. Over and over, it's Roy. The crushing regret of failing to save his best friend, and the unbearable guilt over the decision, his decision, that led to Roy's death.
All Chad can think about are the endless possibilities. What if he hadn't told them to attack the terrorists? What if they had just tried to escape together? What if Brent and Saiko hadn't betrayed them? What if he had replaced Roy, fought Brent, and detonated the bomb himself? What if Roy were still alive?
The more he dwells on these thoughts, the darker his mind becomes. Only when Neil enters the tent, after finishing his work with the military and getting his injuries treated, does a sliver of light break through, both literally and figuratively. Neil steps inside, bringing a bit of sunlight and a bottle of Coca-Cola with him.
"Here." Neil says, handing the Coke to Chad. "Drink this. It'll make you feel a little better."
"..."
Chad takes the bottle but doesn't drink it. Instead, he keeps staring at the ground, lost in his thoughts, the Coke resting in his hands like an afterthought. Watching the boy's somber state, Neil sits beside him on the bed but says nothing. He decides to let Chad process his emotions, ready to help or talk only when the time feels right.
"...Mister Neil... Did I make a mistake?"
Neil's eyes widen in surprise, and he immediately sits up straighter, his posture shifting to show he's fully listening. He doesn't interrupt, waiting for Chad to continue at his own pace. Chad keeps his gaze fixed on the floor, his voice soft and hesitant, as if the weight of his words makes it too hard to look up.
"Was it a mistake? All of this? Suggesting the plan in the first place? Getting others killed because of my selfishness? Forcing them to follow my plan even though they didn't want to? Am I... wrong?!"
Chad's voice cracks under the weight of his guilt, and Neil finds himself at a loss for words. For a few seconds, he's silent—not because he doesn't care, but because he truly doesn't know what to say. He's never had a son, never comforted anyone grieving or in despair. No one had ever done it for him when he was in pain either.
So, instead of searching for the perfect answer, he speaks slowly and honestly, sharing what he truly feels and thinks.
"No, Chad. You aren't wrong."
"But it was my decision—"
"It was your idea, your plan," Neil interrupts gently. "But it was us, me, Nick, and the others who agreed to it. It wasn't your fault things turned out this way. It wasn't your fault that Saiko and Brent betrayed us. And it wasn't your fault that Roy died."
"But..."
"You're not wrong, Chad. You're right. Because without your idea, the casualties could have been far worse. More people might have died if you hadn't encouraged us to act. Think about what we've done, Chad. Look around you. All these people in these tents, they might not have made it here. They might not have survived the terrorists if you hadn't taken action.
And you, Chad. You inspired me to act when I was too scared, too much of a coward, to step forward. You gave me courage."
"???"
"While everyone was fearing for their lives, traumatized by what was happening, even I was too hesitant to think about taking them down and saving the city. But you didn't hesitate. You were the only one who didn't think about running away. You connected us, united us, and encouraged us to fight. And even though things didn't turn out perfectly, it's because of you, Chad, that millions of people in this city were saved and freed from them. It was you, Chad. You are the hero. Not me."
"But Roy... Roy got killed because of me..."
"Roy didn't die for nothing, Chad." Neil places a hand on Chad's shoulder, his voice firm yet compassionate. "He's the one who saved us, saved you! It's because of him that the force field machine was destroyed. He's the reason why the two of us, the President, Selena, and Jenny even survived. You two, Roy and you, are the true heroes, Chad."
"..."
"Just imagine what he would feel if it was you who died for him instead. What if it was you who sacrificed yourself to destroy the force field machine and save the city? Would you want him to grieve over you? To spend days, even weeks, regretting why it wasn't him but you? Do you want that?"
"…No…"
"Right? Roy is a hero. There's no doubt about it. Don't let yourself get lost in grief over him. Instead, remember him, respect him, and move on. Live your life, and be happy—for him. That's what he would want you to do, Chad."
"…I guess… You're right."
Neil releases his hand from Chad's shoulder and returns to his seat. Chad's gaze seems to lift slightly, his expression no longer as weighed down by the grief of his friend's death. Neil gives a small smile, satisfied that he had done his job, comforting his student as best as he could, even though it was his first time.
With his mission complete, Neil lies back on the bed, his hands resting behind his head, and lets out a sigh of relief.
"Huh... what a long day. Good thing the terrorists finally got what they deserved."
"…the terrorists…" Chad mumbles, his voice barely audible. While Neil relaxes after a long day of combat, Chad's mind is consumed with a storm of emotions. His sadness, depression, and grief haven't faded—they've morphed into something darker. But strangely, this new emotion seems to fuel him, giving him a drive he didn't have before.
'Saiko... you piece of shit. I'll make sure you and the terrorists get what you deserve. I'll bring all of you into the light, and I'll make sure you face the worst punishment possible. None of you will get away with this... I swear.'
Anger, hatred, and vengeance now churn within him. His thoughts are suddenly interrupted by Neil, who sits up, his expression tense.
"Chad, did you hear that?" Neil asks, his voice serious as he listens intently.
Neil gets out of the bed, telling Chad to come with him. Both of them step outside the tent into the open air and walk toward another tent, where a large TV screen is set up. Soldiers and civilians alike are gathered around, watching the news intently.
Their attention is immediately drawn to the screen, where a man dressed in a slightly blue uniform with white hair steps forward and stands at a podium, his figure illuminated as the caption reads: "Vice President giving his first speech after the attack on New York."
The man adjusts his papers and straightens his tie before stepping into the microphone. As he begins his speech, everyone in the tent leans forward, their eyes fixed on the screen, ears straining to hear every word. A hushed silence falls over the crowd as they wait for his words.
"Good afternoon, everyone," the Vice President begins, his eyes fixed on the camera before briefly looking down at his papers.
"Yesterday, New York City was attacked by the vicious and horrendous terrorists from the Middle East and Eastern regions. From what we've identified, these men had been planning this attack far longer than we anticipated. They managed to slip through our security, taking advantage of our peace treaties and global integration to secretly infiltrate and take hostages, terrorizing our innocent citizens.
They used technology that was unheard of and unseen before, along with an alarming stockpile of explosives and assault weapons—massive amounts that show this attack was not just the work of a few extremists, but rather part of a larger, more calculated operation backed by a far more dangerous and devious state."
The Vice President pauses for a moment, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. Then, he clears his throat and continues.
"We knew this moment would come sooner or later, yet we allowed it to unfold in the worst possible way, with no way to counterattack or prevent it. We compromised and weakened ourselves, believing our enemies wouldn't dare to strike us. We let them infiltrate our land, using our peaceful treaties to do whatever they wanted to our citizens.
...
Therefore, I, Vice President of the United States, representing the President, who is still recovering, and representing NATO, now known as the Alliances, officially declare retaliation against the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics for this heinous act of terrorism against the American people.
We will not back down or cower. We will not tremble in fear. We will fight, and we will not stop until the Soviet Union, its regime of evil, and its allies of devils are wiped from the face of the Earth!"
...
Everyone at the site is immediately struck with shock, some covering their mouths in disbelief, while others continue to stare at the screen, struggling to process the weight of what they just heard. Fear and worry are etched on their faces.
Chad, Neil, and everyone at the field hospital, no matter what they were doing or how distracted they had been, all shift their focus to the TV screen. The announcement has captured the attention of dozens more, who are equally stunned, unable to grasp the gravity of what's just been declared.
What they had feared the most—the very thing Chad, his friends, and the President had been trying to prevent—has now become a terrifying reality.
The war has begun.