The air is heavy. Charged.
Each second cracks like a war drum.
The Scarred One stares at me.
He smiles.
Cold. Predatory.
Like he knows something.
— William (thought): Why... why are they so calm?
Then...
Everything collapses.
In a terrifying choreography, Érode and the Scarred One raise their arms in unison.
Their forearms light up.
Red laser beacons.
— Érode (calm, sharp): Mission complete. They're all here.
A silence.
Thick. Deadly.
The kind you hear just before a world explodes.
Then—
ZAP! ZAP! ZAP!
The blasts tear through the air.
Energy beams scream, slice, pulverize.
BOOM — a wall shatters.
A shockwave throws me violently to the ground.
Buzzing.
Muffled. Screaming.
Like a looping cry trapped inside my skull.
I open my eyes.
Dust.
Red flashes.
Screams.
And him.
Érode.
Smiling.
Too wide. Too calm.
— Érode (nonchalant): Sorry, but SCOD pays better than the rebellion.
CLIC.
A dagger springs out.
Fluid. Precise. Merciless.
It pierces Ansuya.
A gasp.
A choke.
Then… she falls.
The ground drinks her blood like a silent pact.
— William (frozen thought): Fuck... Fired Mom...
A heartbeat.
Then a scream.
Stryker lunges.
But—
BANG!
The shot hits him square.
His arm drops, limp.
He screams. Then silence.
The Knights close in.
A circle.
Metallic wolves.
Feral.
But Ésha...
She doesn't yield.
She rises.
Eyes blazing.
— Ésha (pure rage): TRAITOROUS BASTARDS!!!
She charges.
Her blades sing vengeance.
A flash of steel against Érode's ice.
The clash.
I move.
Pure reflex.
Weaving through gunfire, rubble, chaos.
Survival becomes an art.
A dance.
A trance.
The Anomalies fight.
Fierce. Desperate.
But SCOD... it's a war machine.
We're falling back.
Dropping.
Bleeding.
— William (heartbeat of war): No time. No air. THEM... NO MERCY.
Iris vibrates.
— Iris: Scan complete. Enemy weak points mapping in progress.
— William: Mapping?!
My screen lights up.
Lines.
Openings.
Paths.
Escape.
Or strike back.
I turn my head.
Ésha vs Érode.
She attacks.
Lightning-fast.
He blocks.
Effortlessly. Like he saw it coming.
And then...
A voice. A memory.
Alvin.
— Alvin (distant echo): Bro-man, remember MC3S! We never let it slide, NEVER!
A shiver.
A spark.
Rage. The real kind.
I could run.
But I don't.
I can't.
— Iris: Strategic analysis complete. Best response: Rambo Mode.
A twisted grin crawls across my face.
Almost... animal.
— William (thought): Rambo? Alright. Game on.
Adrenaline EXPLODES.
— William (war cry): AR MOI NON!!!
My phone heats up.
Circuits scream.
I feel the power surging through my veins.
CLANG.
I grab a chunk of metal.
SMASH.
Right in the Scarred One's visor.
He staggers.
I roll under a volley.
Come out.
CRACK.
Knee to the ribs.
He screams.
— William (cold): I'm no tourist. I'm Pablo from the Ghetto.
— Iris: RAMBO MODE — ACTIVATED.
The phone shifts.
A hard snap.
Red light.
A slingshot.
But apocalypse version.
— William: The one I built back in elementary… Miss Préaudette took the prototype.
— Iris: And I optimized it. Elemental ammo. Ready to purge.
A red reticle.
Hungry.
— Iris: Two settings: single shot or full burst.
I aim.
BAM!
One helmet is gone.
BAM!
Another one bites the dust.
BAM!
BAM!
BAM!
And another one! And another!
You know the song.
The shots ricochet.
The Knights fall.
SCOD wavers.
The Anomalies find hope again.
Stryker, bloodied, still standing,
His dagger sinks into a throat.
The Knight stumbles.
Then drops.
The battlefield becomes a symphony of rage.
— Ésha (pure fury): YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS, BASTARD!!!
Her strike slices the air.
Érode steps back.
Off-balance. For the first time.
Dust rises.
The ground quakes.
I stand.
Again.
And again.
My eyes meet Stryker's.
A nod.
No words needed.
— William (tight thought): I won't fall.
The rebellion stands.
And me... I'm still on my feet.
The fight goes on.