The afternoon sun cast long golden beams across the open paved boulevard separating Central High School from the government roadblock.
Standing on the high concrete ramparts, the First Player looked through his tactical binoculars at the approaching group of civilian defectors.
Beside him, the dark-haired striker leaned against the stone parapet, her expression calm and observant in the crisp autumn air.
"They have reached the fifty-yard marker," Kendra reported from the central observation post.
"The government officers are emerging from their command tents to receive them."
Across the road, thirty-two civilian defectors carried their luggage and backpacks toward the barbed-wire checkpoint pavilion.
The lead defector, an older man in a wool coat, waved his arms eagerly at the armed government enforcers.
"We are peaceful civilians from the high school!" the older man shouted toward the armored transport vehicles.
