The journey into Manchester was slow and gruelling. The city loomed like a decaying titan, its crumbling skyline choked by smog and ash. Once a hub of industry, Manchester had become a battlefield, its streets ruled by gangs who fought for scraps amid the ruins.
The Vanguard entered cautiously, their convoy weaving through the skeletal remains of cars and the twisted wreckage of buildings. As they neared the city centre, it became clear that this battle would be unlike any they'd faced before.
Swift Angel surveyed the streets from above, his wings slicing through the polluted air. "Stay sharp," he called over the comms. "The gangs here aren't just disorganised thugs. They're entrenched, armed, and desperate."
Dark Ant tightened the straps on his armour, his expression grim. "I know these streets," he said, his voice low. "It's worse than you think."
Shadowleaf melted into the shadows, her bow at the ready. "Good. Let's remind them why they should fear us."
The ambush came as they entered the old industrial district. Gangs poured from the alleyways and shattered storefronts, their war cries echoing through the ruins. They were a patchwork of desperation and brutality, their makeshift weapons glinting in the dim light.
The Vanguard moved as one.
Fantasia's energy blasts tore through their lines, scattering the attackers like leaves in the wind. Shadowleaf struck from the darkness, her arrows finding their marks with deadly precision. Gentle Illusionist sowed chaos in their ranks, turning allies against one another with a flick of her hand.
Swift Angel dove into the fray, his wings slicing through the air as he disarmed and incapacitated with brutal efficiency.
Dark Ant moved with methodical precision, his gadgets neutralising traps and cutting down anyone who got too close. But his focus faltered when a voice crackled through the gang's radio frequency.
"Bring her out," the voice commanded, cold and cruel.
Dark Ant froze as the gang parted, revealing a figure that made his blood run cold.
It was a woman, or what was left of one. Her body was a grotesque fusion of flesh and machinery, her skin stretched taut over metal plates and exposed wiring. Tubes ran from her chest to her spine, pulsing with an unnatural rhythm. Her arms ended in jagged, claw-like appendages, and her eyes—once a warm brown—were now glowing red orbs, devoid of humanity.
"Lana," Ant whispered, his voice cracking.
The woman tilted her head, her movements jerky and unnatural. Her voice came out distorted, a garbled mix of mechanical whirs and strained syllables. "Designation: Lana. Objective: eliminate target."
Ant took a step forward, his breath shallow. "It's me. It's Anthony. Your brother."
She didn't hesitate. With a scream that was equal parts human and machine, she lunged at him, her claws slashing through the air.
Ant dodged her attack, his heart pounding. "Lana, stop! It's me!"
But there was no recognition in her eyes, only cold, programmed rage. Her movements were erratic yet terrifyingly precise, her mechanical limbs whirring with deadly efficiency.
The rest of the Vanguard hesitated, unsure whether to intervene.
"She's not your sister anymore," Shadowleaf said, her voice flat but tinged with regret.
"She's still in there!" Ant shouted, blocking another strike with his reinforced gauntlets. Sparks flew as metal met metal, the impact forcing him back.
Lana's body was a nightmare of modifications. Her chest plate shifted as she moved, revealing glimpses of pulsing organs entwined with machinery. Her spine was encased in a metal exoskeleton, wires snaking through her flesh like parasitic veins.
Ant's gadgets faltered against her, his EMP darts absorbed by the shielding embedded in her body. He tried to subdue her without hurting her, but every move she made pushed him closer to desperation.
From a nearby rooftop, a man watched the battle with cruel amusement. He was gaunt and sharp-featured, his eyes cold and calculating. He held a small detonator in his hand, his finger hovering over the button.
"Well, isn't this touching?" he sneered into a loudspeaker. "Family reunion and all that. But you see, she's mine now. And if I can't have her, neither can you."
Ant's eyes widened as the man's words sank in. "Don't!" he shouted, his voice raw. "She doesn't have to die!"
But the pimp smiled cruelly. "She's already dead."
He pressed the button.
Lana froze mid-attack, her mechanical body convulsing violently. A high-pitched whine filled the air as the claymore hidden in her chest plate armed itself.
"No!" Ant screamed, lunging toward her.
The explosion tore through the street, a deafening roar that shook the ground. Ant was thrown backward, his armour absorbing most of the blast but leaving him battered and bloody.
When the smoke cleared, Lana was gone. All that remained were shards of metal and fragments of charred flesh scattered across the rubble.
Ant crawled to the epicentre of the blast, his trembling hands sifting through the debris. He found a small piece of her necklace—an old, rusted charm she'd worn since they were children.
He clutched it tightly, his shoulders shaking as he let out a guttural cry.
The rest of The Vanguard gathered around him, their victory in Manchester now hollow.
Shadowleaf placed a hand on his shoulder, her expression uncharacteristically soft. "I'm sorry."
Ant didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the ground.
Swift Angel stepped forward, his wings folding as he knelt beside Ant. "We'll make this right," he said quietly. "We'll take this city and make sure no one else suffers like she did."
Ant's grip on the necklace tightened. "This isn't over," he said, his voice hoarse but resolute. "The bastard who did this... he's mine."