Zenithar – Industrial Sector
6 December 1077– 07:05 PM
Zenithar's shadows stretched long, swallowing their path home in uneasy silence.
The Industrial Sector greeted them with its usual stench of rust, burnt oil, and despair. Zenithar had two faces—one draped in the illusion of normalcy, the other laid bare in all its decay.
Here, the night didn't bring rest. It brought hunger, rage, and violence.
The streets were crawling with gangs, criminals, addicts, and scavengers, all hunting for a victim—someone either stupid enough or desperate enough to be caught.
Laughter and angry shouts echoed through the alleys, blending with whispered threats and the constant screech of metal from the abandoned warehouses.
Raiga walked as if he saw none of it, as if the filth around him didn't exist.
But he saw everything.
Liara, on the other hand, felt it on her skin. This city suffocated her.
She was about to say something when the metallic chime of her holographic watch made her jump.
Garret.
Liara sighed and answered.
"Hey, Garret."
On the other end, their mentor's rough voice came through like a growl over a broken connection.
"Still in one piece?"
"Yeah, we're on our way back. We're getting ready."
"Good." A pause. "And the idiot?"
Raiga let out a quiet scoff, not breaking his stride, and touched his earpiece to reply directly.
"What do you want, old man?"
A long sigh came from the other side.
"Still the same asshole, huh? Would it kill you to say: 'Good evening, Garret. How was your day?'"
Raiga didn't even hesitate.
"I don't give a shit about your day, old man."
Liara rolled her eyes.
Garret let out a low growl, spitting a curse between gritted teeth.
"You little bastard… One of these days, kid, I'm gonna kick your ass."
Raiga smirked—slow, amused.
"In your dreams, you stupid idiot."
A loud slam echoed through the call, like Garret had just punched a table.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"
Liara groaned and ran a hand over her face.
"Alright, that's enough! Can you two just stop? You're both hopeless…"
Garret muttered something unintelligible.
"I'll call you when we're leaving," Liara said.
"Fine… See you later."
The call disconnected.
Liara turned to Raiga, glaring at him.
"Seriously, Raiga! Are you ever going to stop?"
Raiga barely shrugged, that same eternal look of indifference on his face.
"He started it."
And without another word, he walked on.
Liara sighed, defeated.
By the time they reached the hideout, the mapping device was ready.
Liara swiftly completed the final configurations. The drones flickered in perfect sync, briefly illuminating the satisfaction on her face.
She turned toward Raiga—he was already fastening his blade and pistol to his belt, checking the magazines with quick, silent movements.
"I'm heading to the garage," he said, slipping on his jacket. "I'll wait for you there."
Liara watched him, but her gaze stopped on the bloodstained bandages wrapped around his shoulder. She immediately took a step toward him, concern flashing across her face.
"Wait. Let me check your wound."
"Forget it, I'm fine," Raiga grumbled.
"Stop it," she cut him off firmly.
She pushed him back, forcing him to sit on the bed.
"At least let me change the bandages. No arguments."
Raiga let out another frustrated sigh, exasperation flickering in his eyes, but he didn't resist. He dropped heavily onto the edge of the bed, relenting.
Liara worked quickly but carefully, unwrapping the bandages.
And then she froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The wound had almost completely healed.
Liara looked up at Raiga, stunned.
He immediately averted his gaze, his expression clouded with unease.
"Raiga…" Her voice barely escaped her lips. "Your wound… this isn't possible."
Raiga remained still, refusing to meet her eyes.
"Drop it, Liara."
"Drop it?" Liara repeated, her voice rising. "This isn't normal! You knew, and you didn't say anything?"
Raiga's fingers tightened around the edge of the bed, irritation flickering across his face.
"Liara, stop it."
She shook her head, frustration building into anger.
"No, I won't! You… you're changing, Raiga. Something's happening to you, and you know it."
Raiga suddenly stood, turning sharply toward her, his expression hard.
"That's enough, Liara. You're overreacting."
"I'm overreacting?" she snapped, furious. "You were shot, for god's sake! A wound like that doesn't heal on its own in a few hours! It's connected, isn't it? To the way you've been acting lately—
—all that violence, all that rage…"
"ENOUGH!"
Raiga's voice crashed through the room, loud and sharp.
A heavy silence followed.
Liara stared at him, stunned, her breath caught.
She watched as the hardness in Raiga's face slowly faded, replaced by a shadow of pain.
And then it hit her.
He didn't have answers.
She had cornered him, pressed him too hard, and now she saw the fear hidden beneath his anger.
"Raiga… I didn't mean—"
He cut her off with a small gesture, his gaze distant.
"I'm going to the garage."
He grabbed his jacket and walked out, leaving behind an oppressive silence.
Liara sat still for a few moments, suddenly feeling hollow. Guilty.
Her hands clutched the bloodstained bandages, her gaze lowering as her eyes filled with unshed tears.
She could feel it—Raiga was slipping away from her.
And she had no idea why.
With a sharp breath, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, forcing herself to regain composure.
She finished preparing in silence, secured her gear, and took a deep breath.
And so, she stepped into the dark after him.
Zenithar – Resistance Headquarters – 08:30 PM
Hidden beneath the ruins and decaying warehouses of the Industrial Sector, the Resistance Headquarters was a vast underground labyrinth carved into the remains of an old wartime bunker.
The air was damp, thick with the scent of rust and gunpowder. Flickering, dim lighting cast deep shadows in every corner, while the constant hum of generators merged with the tense voices of soldiers making frantic final preparations.
Tonight, after long and meticulous planning, they would assault Zenithar's main military factory.
The facility was a critical target—it produced a significant portion of the weapons that fueled the government's military, strengthening the regime's iron grip over the central territories.
The plan was simple and deadly: an electromagnetic pulse would disable the security systems, allowing infiltration teams to seize the armored convoys and plant explosives to wipe out the assembly lines.
This mission was more than sabotage—it was a declaration.
A warning.
The Resistance was real. It was determined. And it would no longer allow the government to manufacture tools of oppression and terror without consequence.
This was the first step toward freeing a people who had lived too long under the weight of fear and tyranny.
In a cramped operations room, dimly lit by the bluish glow of holographic maps and strategic monitors, Garret stood with his hands braced against the metal table. Across from him stood Kael and Allen, his most trusted subordinates.
"We're ready," Allen announced with confidence, his young face illuminated by sheer determination.
Kael, older and more experienced, studied him briefly before shifting his gaze to Garret.
"You didn't call us in just for this, did you?"
Garret let out a faint smirk. Always perceptive.
"Exactly," he replied, crossing his arms slowly. "There's something you still don't know."
Allen tilted his head, intrigued, but Kael was the first to speak, his sharp eyes narrowing.
"You've finally decided to introduce them."
Garret raised a brow. "Oh? So you already suspected something?"
"I had a feeling you had an ace up your sleeve," Kael replied, a half-smile forming on his lips.
"This plan is bold, even for you. It seemed unlikely that those two wouldn't be involved."
Allen looked between them, utterly lost.
"Wait… who the hell are you talking about?"
Kael ran a hand through his hair, his gaze hardening as he met Garret's eyes.
"Bringing them in changes everything. But are you sure you can control that demon?"
A heavy silence filled the room.
Garret remained still for a moment, then let out a short, dry laugh—firm but tense.
"You just focus on doing your job, Kael."
Kael nodded slowly, while Allen, still visibly confused, sighed in exasperation.
Garret's expression quickly hardened again.
"When they arrive, I'll go over the full plan with everyone. Until then, make sure every squad is ready to move."
Kael and Allen exchanged a brief glance before nodding sharply and exiting the room without another word.
The moment Garret was alone, his face darkened.
He let out a long breath, the distant sounds of preparations reminding him of what was at stake.
An entire city trapped in fear.
A war that never seemed to end.
He trusted Him. But Raiga wasn't something you controlled.
Zenithar – Military Command Center – 08:54 PM
The soldiers stood in formation on the rooftop of the command center, motionless, their muscles tense.
The deafening roar of helicopter rotors tore through the air, shattering the heavy silence of the night as the aircraft slowly descended in front of them.
The side hatch slid open, revealing five figures emerging with precise, authoritative movements.
They wore dark uniforms, adorned with the silver insignia of the central government, and walked with a heavy, determined stride, their gazes fixed forward.
Not a single soldier dared meet their gaze.
A palpable tension filled the air—almost fear—before these men who embodied the government's ruthless cruelty.
Behind them, a special operations unit descended from the helicopter.
Eight men, clad in black tactical gear, their helmets sealed, glowing visors cutting through the darkness like the eyes of predators.
The advanced weaponry strapped to them made it clear—these were specialists, trained for missions beyond any conventional limits.
And then—Commander Varos stepped out.
Tall, his cold, piercing gaze swept across the area, taking in everything and everyone with a single, calculating glance.
Then, with a voice sharp and precise, he addressed the captain in charge of Zenithar's command center.
"The situation?"
The captain, visibly tense, snapped to attention and responded swiftly.
"We have isolated a possible operational zone for the target, sir. But we have yet to confirm its exact location."
Varos narrowed his eyes, then turned to the special operations team standing rigidly behind him.
"Good. Begin the hunt."