The atmosphere in the plaza was so thick it felt as though the air itself refused to enter one's lungs. Thousands of people crowded under a sky that couldn't decide between drizzle and fog, weaving a gray shroud over the capital. This wasn't the enthusiastic mob of the elections; it was a human mass bound together by terror and uncertainty.
In the center of the stage, Lucan took a step forward. The wind whipped his dark hair and the lapels of his presidential suit—a uniform that fit him like armor far too heavy for a single man. His eyes, which once sparked with a mentor's cunning, now reflected the dark circles of one who carries the dead of an entire nation. He adjusted the microphone, and the hum of the speakers silenced every last whisper in the square.
— Citizens… brothers —Lucan began, his voice resonating with a gravity that made the skin crawl—. I do not come here to ask for your calm, because asking for calm in the face of the abyss is an insult. I come to give you the truth.
He paused, letting the echo of his words sink into the crowd.
— Intelligence reports have confirmed what we feared. The coordinated attacks we suffered were not isolated incidents. Between twelve in the afternoon and four in the morning, while the world tried to move forward, a machinery of death was set in motion. Surgical teams of eight mercenaries per target struck simultaneously across every time zone. Generals, ministers, strategists… no one with an ounce of authority was ignored. The toll is atrocious: three municipal presidents have been executed, and five continental leaders are either bleeding out in intensive care units or have already passed into history.
A murmur of horror rippled through the plaza like a wave. Lucan gripped the edges of the podium, his knuckles turning white.
— The few who were captured are not common men. They are shadows that tremble at the memory of their own master. They speak of a figure who never allows himself to be fully seen, a contractor moving between reality and nightmare. They describe a mask, a sort of iron crown with slits that hide any trace of humanity on his face. They call him by many names: Castaway, Northos… but one name repeats like a curse among their lips: Neura.
Lucan projected a holographic map behind him. Red dots began to blink frantically over the world's capitals.
— This psychopath does not merely seek power; he seeks annihilation. He has orchestrated the murder of more than twenty-three thousand civilians in the last seventy-two hours. He commands a legion of one hundred and forty thousand mercenaries who are besieging the most advanced armament factories and blocking the planet's commercial arteries. The latest generation of mechanized ships—a blend of technology stolen from ten different nations—are under his control.
Lucan's voice became a roar of contained pain as he mentioned the bombings.
— Canada, Brazil, Norway, Australia, Spain… the cradles of culture and thousands of families have been reduced to ashes and rubble. Faced with this unprecedented threat, twenty-nine nations have signed a blood pact. An alliance led by the United States to hunt down Neura. And as President, I have made a decision: I will send our most valuable resource—the special forces squad that has achieved the impossible—to lead our defensive lines abroad.
The crowd's response was immediate and violent. Shouts of protest rose from the back of the plaza.
— Only one squad?! —a man screamed, his face distorted—. They've bombed entire cities and you take away our best protectors to send them far away! It's madness!
Lucan lowered his gaze for a second, but when he looked up, his eyes were burning.
— That squad has written history with its blood when everyone else failed —he declared, silencing the protest—. If this monster's playground ever reaches our soil, we will need the rest of our army here, but the head of the serpent must be severed in its nest. With that, I withdraw.
Far from the stage, sheltered by the shadow of an old building, the team listened in a tense silence. Axel, leaning against the wall, played nervously with a lighter, though his eyes never left the ground.
— Guess it's our turn to travel for a while —Axel murmured. His voice, which always found a crack for humor, sounded hollow this time, as if the words were a cardboard shield against an inferno—. I suppose the Pentagon has better coffee makers than we do.
Celia, beside him, had her arms crossed so tightly her nails dug into her own skin.
— It's a global disaster, Axel —she said, her voice a thin thread—. A man who can bring thirty countries to their knees in a single night isn't just a madman. He's something worse. This gives me a feeling that pierces my very soul.
Auren had said nothing. He was there, but his mind seemed to inhabit another plane, one where the gray of the sky was absolute black. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, toward where his home, his refuge, his Lilian once were. Finally, he took a step forward, breaking the group's formation.
— Hey… —his voice was a whisper that cut like broken glass—. We're not going because Lucan orders it. Nor for the medals they'll promise us in the United States.
Auren turned toward them. His face, once noble and serene, was deformed by a grimace of pure agony. His eyes, clouded by the color of death, began to overflow with heavy tears that mingled with the rain.
— We're going to find justice, or whatever is left of it —he continued, teeth clenched, his body shaking with a volcanic fury—. If you have the slightest desire to avenge those who have fallen, follow me. I won't stop until that bastard feels the cold that I feel now.
He paused, swallowing a sob that turned into a low roar.
— I'm going for that son of a bitch… because he didn't just attack the world. He killed the most important person in my life. He killed my future. And now, all I have left is his blood on my hands.
The air around the team turned frigid. Auren's sadness wasn't a lament; it was a declaration of war. His comrades, moved by the raw pain of their friend, nodded in silence. They were no longer just soldiers; they were men and women walking into the mouth of the wolf.