In the days following The Vanguard's triumph in Sheffield, whispers of rebellion grew louder in Manchester. Dissenters gathered in darkened basements, abandoned buildings, and the back alleys of the ruined city, their anger stoked by graffiti slogans and tales of The Vanguard's brutality.
At the heart of the rebellion was Callum, the defiant teenager who had questioned his mother's faith in The Vanguard. With his sharp wit and natural charisma, he quickly became the face of the growing movement.
"They want us to trade one master for another," Callum declared to a gathering of twenty in an old factory. "They talk about order, but it's their order. They don't care about us—they care about control."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"We've been fighting for scraps since the bombs fell," Callum continued, his voice rising. "Now they want us to kneel? No. We'll show them that this city belongs to us."
The rebellion's first act was a coordinated attack on one of The Vanguard's supply depots in the city.
Late one night, Callum and his group slipped through the shadows, armed with scavenged weapons and homemade explosives. The depot was lightly guarded, the sentries unprepared for the sudden assault.
Explosions rocked the facility, sending crates of food and medicine spilling into the street. The rebels loaded what they could onto stolen vehicles, disappearing into the night before the Vanguard could respond.
By morning, the depot was in ruins, and the rebels had distributed the stolen supplies among the city's poorest districts.
The attack sent shockwaves through The Vanguard.
In their command centre, Swift Angel paced the room, his wings brushing the walls as his frustration mounted. "This isn't just theft. It's an attack on everything we're building."
Dark Ant leaned against a table, his expression dark. "They're testing us. If we don't hit back, we'll lose the city."
"Hit back how?" Shadowleaf asked, her tone sharp. "Do we storm into the slums and start dragging people out of their homes? That's not why we're here."
Fantasia crossed her arms, her glowing eyes narrowing. "Then what's your solution? Let them keep attacking us until there's nothing left to rebuild?"
World-Shaman, lounging in a corner with a cigarette in hand, broke the tension with his usual irreverence. "Maybe we should ask them nicely to stop. I'm sure that'll work."
Angel ignored him, his gaze fixed on the map spread across the table. "We find the leaders. We cut off the head, and the body will follow."
Shadowleaf frowned. "And if the 'head' is just a scared kid trying to survive?"
Angel's expression hardened. "Then we make him understand. One way or another."
The Vanguard's search for the rebels led them to the slums, where they found themselves met with silence and distrust. The people, emboldened by the rebellion's success, refused to give up their newfound protectors.
Callum watched from a safe distance as The Vanguard patrolled the streets, their imposing presence drawing uneasy glances from the crowd.
"They're looking for us," Callum said to his second-in-command, a sharp-eyed young woman named Leila.
"Let them," Leila replied, her voice steady. "They won't find anything unless we want them to."
But Callum wasn't so sure. "They're not just soldiers," he said. "They're something else. We can't beat them head-on."
"Then we won't," Leila said, a hint of a smile on her lips. "We make them beat themselves."
That night, the rebels planted false intel about a weapons cache hidden in an abandoned warehouse. The Vanguard, eager to end the rebellion swiftly, took the bait.
Swift Angel led the operation, his wings slicing through the air as he coordinated the team's movements. Shadowleaf and Dark Ant moved silently through the shadows, while Fantasia provided cover with her energy blasts.
The warehouse was empty when they arrived—except for a single device rigged to explode.
The blast wasn't deadly, but it sent a clear message. As The Vanguard regrouped outside the smouldering ruins, graffiti sprayed across a nearby wall caught their attention:
"We won't bow. We won't break. Manchester is ours."
The failed operation deepened the cracks within The Vanguard.
Back at their base, the tension was palpable.
"We're losing control," Fantasia said bluntly.
"We never had it," Shadowleaf countered. "Not really. They've been waiting for a reason to rise up, and we gave it to them."
Angel slammed his fist on the table, his wings flaring. "Enough! We're not here to debate. We're here to lead. If they won't follow willingly, we'll make them."
Shadowleaf's gaze turned icy. "And how many people do we hurt to make that happen?"
Angel didn't answer, his jaw tight as he stared at the map.
Meanwhile, Callum and his rebels celebrated their small victory, though the mood was far from jubilant.
"They'll come back harder next time," Callum said, his voice heavy.
"Let them," Leila replied. "We'll be ready."
But Callum wasn't so sure. As he watched the people around him—scared, hungry, and desperate—he wondered how much longer they could hold out against The Vanguard's might.
For now, the fight continued.