The sun had not yet risen. Ash still floated through the air like snowfall. Geneva was quiet now, but not because it was safe, because everyone was too tired to scream anymore.
The attack was over. But the ruins told their own story: bodies lined in rows, tagged and covered; mech limbs and broken rifles embedded in collapsed concrete; the scent of scorched polymer and burnt ozone.
In the center of the devastation, surrounded by a perimeter of rebar and shattered stone, stood what remained of the Overwatch Command Spire, cracked, leaning, but miraculously still upright. And from the base of the ruined tower, recovery had already begun.
Temporary Command Post – Central Medical Pavilion
Rows of wounded lay motionless beneath thermal blankets. Medic drones floated between them; dispensing painkillers and rehydration stims. The smell of antiseptic fought to overpower the scent of blood.
Shawn worked endlessly, helping any soldier he could. He refrained from using Vital Synch, using only tools and Blackline to heal the wounded. His uniform jacket was tied around his waist; chest still wrapped in gauze under combat plating.
Across from him, Ana Amari adjusted a holographic projection. She looked just as tired—burn marks on her coat, her hair matted with dust, eyes bloodshot but focused.
"Any word from Adawe or Jack?" Shawn asked.
Ana shook her head. "Not yet. They're likely trapped beneath Sector Zero. We're trying to break through the lower access tunnels."
S3bastian stood nearby, arms crossed. "And while we wait for good news, let me guess, more work?"
"Yes," Ana replied. "A relay's gone active. We tracked a string of encrypted pulses coming out of Anatolia. If Geneva was the nerve center, this one might be a lung by feeding Anubis's command network oxygen. If we don't shut it down, we'll be fighting blind."
A holomap flickered to life. Deep beneath the Turkish countryside was the shell of an abandoned pre-Omnic metro. On that, a blinking red exclamation point.
"Relay designation: Theta-12," Ana continued. "You leave in under two hours."
Shawn blinked, slow. "No rest?"
Ana's voice was low, but resolute. "You can sleep when Anubis is dead."
The Rose's Thorns gathered what gear they could. Most of their original packs had been destroyed in the battle. They improvised: salvaged armor plates, jury-rigged weapons, combat suits stripped from the fallen.
Virginia cinched her belt tighter over fresh bruises. "Anyone else feel like we're barely keeping it together?"
"Because we are," Spencer said. "But we're still here."
Felix handed out field vials of Blackline—rationed, cut down, but still effective.
Marco adjusted his rifle strap and muttered, "Don't think. Just keep moving forward."
Sonya rechecked her stim injector, grim-faced. "Let's end this."
S3bastian clanked up behind them. "Final call. Wheels up in ten. Let's make this quick. The more time we spend in Geneva, the more ghosts we leave behind.
Turkish Border
The roar of engines was the only sound inside the troop bay.
No mission briefing. No jokes. No music.
Just a long, narrow bench. Ten soldiers. Ten survivors. Shawn stood at the rear, bracing against the fuselage.
"We need hope to win," he said quietly, just loud enough for them to hear over the hum. "We need grit. We hit the ground and keep hitting until it breaks. No retreat. No delay. We end this relay. Then the next. Then the one after that."
He looked each of them in the eye.
"If Anubis is watching, let him see what's coming."
The light turned green. No countdown.
They jumped into the foggy mist below.