A new dawn rose over Larameer, a city whose air choked with the scent of iron and unease.
The military plaza shimmered with the reflection of plasma light off the soldiers' armor, while the hum of their voices merged with the whistling winds weaving between the tall towers.
The troops stood in rigid formation, awaiting orders for the main operation. Whispers flitted among them like faint sparks of tension, occasionally broken by short, forced laughs meant to conceal their anxiety.
From the shadows, Brian emerged — each step deliberate, his gaze as cold as ice.
The soldiers straightened instantly, their salute echoing in unison. Brian returned it with a sharp motion before his voice thundered through the square:
> "I don't want any mistakes this time! Each squad will secure one of the presidential convoy routes. Stay in constant contact with Command. Any breach will be dealt with immediately."
Then he turned sharply and barked,
> "Kyle, Syle, Fox — step forward!"
The three advanced from the ranks, each with a distinct presence.
Kyle, pale-faced with one arm strapped to his chest in a medical sling, looked weary and detached.
Fox, tall and calm, carried in his eyes the color of a storm — serene, yet ready to strike.
And Syle, with his youthful features and eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and brilliance, looked as if he were born to defy every rule in existence.
Brian's tone hardened.
> "You'll be working separately this time. Don't embarrass me in front of the High Command."
Syle smirked, clasping his hands behind his head.
> "Sure thing, Captain. We won't let you down..."
Brian didn't return the smile. His jaw tightened.
> "This is an official mission. It may seem simple, but every eye is on us today. The public will see you, which means you must look imposing. Syle—please revert to your original form. Appearing as a child will only draw ridicule."
Syle's smirk froze. His voice dropped to a cold monotone.
> "That's none of your concern. The Moathan protocol allows this form. I'm more efficient this way—and I'll decide when to change, not you."
Brian sighed, looking away.
> "Fine. Do as you wish. But at least try to act your age."
Syle arched an eyebrow.
> "Then I'll guard the President myself."
Brian snapped back,
> "No. You'll oversee the speech platform. That's your zone. Fox will stay with the President. It wouldn't look right having a child stand next to him, even if you're stronger than all of us combined."
Syle burst into hysterical laughter.
> "Are you saying this muted blade is better than me?!"
Brian's reply came low but sharp.
> "It's not about who's better. He's simply more suited for the task. Fox has superior detection abilities and tremendous combat strength. His presence gives the Legion dignity before the public."
Silence hung for a beat. Then Syle muttered bitterly, turning away,
> "Whatever... I'll take my post."
Brian's gaze shifted to Kyle, who stood quietly, fatigue etched across his face.
> "What about you? Still not recovered?"
> "My arm still hurts…"
> "Then you'll head to Zone Z. The convoy might pass through there for just a minute—or not at all. Stay in position and report every ten minutes. And remember the passphrase for your first transmission."
Kyle raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
> "Is that really necessary?"
> "Just a precaution. Who knows? One of you could be replaced without us even noticing. We trust no one today."
Kyle rubbed his temple with his good hand.
> "Fine… I'll go."
And so, they dispersed to their assigned areas.
---
In Zone Z, Kyle stood atop a high building overlooking a street lined with banners and a transparent plasma shield separating the citizens from the convoy's path.
The wind tugged at his black coat as he adjusted his arm sling for comfort.
He gazed down at the city below — its copper lights, its small faces gathered in silent anticipation.
> "If my arm weren't busted," he muttered, "I'd be playing a battle royale match right now instead of staring at nothing."
With a sigh, he activated his handheld console and started an electronic chess match, rehearsing Caro–Kann lines like he always did, occasionally glancing toward the convoy and sending routine reports to Command.
Then the presidential convoy began to move through the fortified streets — white vehicles gleaming beneath the brass sun, surrounded by armored guards.
Crowds lined both sides of the road, their eyes reflecting a mix of hatred, curiosity, and fear.
For the first time in decades, they saw a man with real wrinkles and visible gray hair — a relic in a world where no one lived long enough to age.
All eyes fixed on him: some whispered curses, others raised signs of protest.
And suddenly — without warning — heads burst apart in the crowd, those who had dared to shout.
Silence crashed down like a heavy curtain.
No one screamed. No one moved.
Everyone knew — the city's Legion did not tolerate chaos.
Then, forced applause rippled through the masses — hollow, desperate clapping to drown out the fear. Faces smiled while hearts trembled.
And the President marched on slowly, raising his hand in greeting — the hand of a man who had survived time itself, but never escaped their hatred.
---
At Command Center, Brian sat surrounded by countless screens and the unceasing hum of devices.
More than twenty operators monitored every camera feed, checked side routes, and relayed updates from the field.
He exhaled deeply and called out,
> "Status report! All clear?"
One operator replied quickly,
> "All systems stable, sir."
Brian nodded slightly.
> "Let's hope it stays that way…"
Then suddenly — the sirens wailed.
Static burst across the speakers, followed by fragmented reports from soldiers.
In an instant, the calm turned to chaos.
Faces that were confident seconds ago now filled with disbelief and fear.
Something had happened —
Something no one saw coming.