The shuttle touched down in the ruins of an old industrial park, rusted cranes and skeletal warehouses rising like grave markers against the pre-dawn sky.
Elias Thorne stood at the open hatch, Grimm and Ash flanking him. The cold air smelled of salt, old oil, and burning metal from the facility they had just left behind. Behind him, thirty-seven survivors gathered—defectors, freed test subjects, and broken soldiers who had chosen rebellion over obedience.
They had escaped.
But escape was not victory.
---
The survivors spread out cautiously. Chambers organized the non-combatants into small groups, searching the area for usable shelter. Isaac Moreau stood beside Elias, his breath misting in the cold. His face was hollow, haunted by years of captivity, but his eyes burned with defiant purpose.
— "We can't stay exposed like this," Isaac said quietly. "If the White Dawn has satellites still operational..."
Elias nodded. "We'll set up inside the main foundry. Thick walls. Limited sightlines."
Chambers relayed the orders. Within an hour, they had established a rudimentary camp inside the rusting shell of the steelworks.
---
By sunrise, Elias gathered the group in the largest open chamber—once a furnace hall, now cold and empty.
The weight of thirty-seven lives pressed on his shoulders. He had never wanted to lead. Survival had always been his own path.
But survival alone wasn't enough anymore.
---
Isaac stepped forward, a worn datapad in hand.
— "During my time in the facility, I intercepted fragments of internal communications. Before Voss initiated his final protocols, the Aurora Branca began transferring key assets to a site in the northern territories."
He tapped the datapad.
— "An old military base, heavily fortified. Rumors suggest they've gathered other survivors there—both test subjects and defectors."
A ripple of hope—and fear—passed through the group.
Chambers frowned. "It could be a trap."
Elias agreed. "It probably is."
But it was also a chance. The only lead they had.
---
That night, Elias sat alone at the foundry's highest point, an old crane platform.
Grimm lay at his feet. Ash stood guard at the stairwell.
Stars burned overhead—cold and distant.
His thoughts were not of strategy or battle. They were of the faces he had left behind. Friends who had died. Victims of Prometheus. The cost of his long, unnatural life.
For years, he had wandered alone, believing solitude was survival.
Now, thirty-seven souls looked to him.
He could not abandon them.
---
At dawn, the scouts returned.
Chambers approached. "No signs of White Dawn patrols nearby. But we spotted drones on the horizon."
Time was running out.
---
Council.
They convened in the old furnace hall.
Isaac. Chambers. Three other defectors with military experience. Elias stood at the center.
— "We can't remain stationary," Isaac began. "We need to move north."
— "We'll be exposed on the road," Chambers countered. "We need transport. Armor."
Elias listened in silence, then spoke.
— "We split."
The room quieted.
— "A smaller team scouts the northern base. The rest fortify this position. If it's a trap, we don't risk everyone."
Heads nodded. Even those who doubted his leadership could not doubt his logic.
---
By midday, the plan was set.
Elias would lead the scout team. Chambers would remain to coordinate defense and prepare for a possible evacuation.
Grimm and Ash, naturally, would follow Elias.
---
That night, before departure, Chambers found him preparing gear.
She hesitated, then asked: "Why not just run? Take your closest and disappear into the wasteland?"
Elias paused, adjusting the rifle sling over his shoulder.
— "Because they'd still be hunting us."
He looked into her eyes.
— "And because I'm tired of running."
---
The next morning, the scout team departed.
Elias. Grimm. Ash. Isaac. Two volunteers—Sara, a former Aurora engineer, and Tomas, an ex-soldier.
They traveled northeast, moving under cover of abandoned highways and dead forests.
The landscape was scarred. Bomb craters. Blackened earth. Skeletons of old war machines rusting beneath overgrowth.
---
On the third day, they found signs of movement.
Tire tracks. Recent.
Isaac crouched beside them. "Heavy transport. Heading north."
Sara added, "Military grade."
---
They followed cautiously, moving parallel to the tracks.
At dusk, they spotted their destination:
An old fortress compound built into a mountain ridge.
Concrete walls. Gun towers. Floodlights.
The flag of the Aurora Branca still flew above the main gate.
But something was wrong.
Smoke curled from one of the towers. Scorch marks marred the walls.
And no guards patrolled the perimeter.
---
They approached under cover of night.
As they neared the outer fence, they found bodies.
Soldiers. Scientists.
All dead.
Some killed by gunfire. Others by... something else. Something brutal.
Grimm sniffed the air, ears flat.
Ash growled low.
Elias raised his rifle.
— "Stay sharp."
---
Inside the compound, the devastation was worse.
Hallways scorched. Doors torn from hinges.
Signs of battle—but also sabotage.
Sara examined a control panel. "This wasn't an attack from outside. This was an uprising."
Isaac nodded grimly. "The other test subjects."
They had rebelled.
And someone had made sure no reinforcements would arrive.
---
In the lower levels, they found survivors.
Eight of them.
Weak. Injured. But alive.
One—Ari—spoke for them.
— "We waited. We thought the Dawn would relocate us. Then the guards stopped coming. The experiments... they broke free. Killed anyone who resisted. We've been hiding since."
---
Elias took in the scene. The compound was a tomb.
But it was also an opportunity.
Weapons. Supplies. Vehicles.
A place to rally.
To fight back.
---
At midnight, as they prepared to extract the survivors, Sara sounded the alarm.
Drones.
Ten. Twenty. More.
Circling overhead.
The Aurora Branca had found them.
---
Elias made a decision.
— "We hold the fortress. No more running."
His team nodded. Even the survivors, battered and afraid, stood ready.
Grimm and Ash braced at his side.
---
As floodlights snapped on and the first enemy transports roared in the distance, Elias felt the weight of his choice.
This wasn't just survival anymore.
It was war.
And for the first time, he welcomed it.