"Shit. This is insane!"
Allen stood on the rooftop, watching a ballistic missile slam into the ground a few kilometers away.
BOOM!
A huge explosion occurred, turning homes and buildings into rubble in mere seconds.
He looked up. The sky was filled with them, a whole volley of missiles arcing towards his city.
They burned through the atmosphere, each one shielded by burning plasma, leaving behind fiery trails.
The city was under attack. The whole country was.
Sirens blasted from all directions. Missiles kept hitting their marks, destroying and killing everyone and everything.
Fortunately, most civilians had already been evacuated and were inside the protection of hardened bunkers.
So then the questions arises, what was Allen doing on a rooftop? With a pair of binoculars, a sports bag, and a bottle of beer?
He was enjoying the show.
He was a military tech junkie. A weapons obsessive. He had spent all his time playing war games such as Battle-thunder, Warfield, Ring of Duty, etc. It was the closest he could get to the real thing.
Until now.
This was a front-row seat to the greatest show on earth. There was no way in hell he was going to miss it.
"Come on! Get those bastards!" he screamed, cheering as the interceptor missiles launched from the ground. They were beautiful, streaking upwards to meet the threat.
He took a sip of beer.
The interceptors met their targets at Mach-whatever. Fireballs bloomed in the sky, with black smoke and debris raining down.
Five seconds later, another explosion rocked the ground.
Damn.
The SAMs had taken out most of the incoming missiles, but a few had slipped through the net.
"A saturation attack," Allen muttered to himself as he took another swig of the beer. "Guess you can't stop them all."
This one was close. He could see the impact zone clearly. Fallen buildings. Fire. Smoke.
And bodies. Dozens of them, scattered around in a messy pool of flesh, blood, and debris.
As he gazed over the scene, an unusual coldness filled his eyes. He did not see the humans or the bodies or the crying children who had just lost their parents, the only thing he saw was the magnificent explosion.
Everything else didn't matter to him. No one did.
Not since his parents died in a car crash.
Not since his girlfriend of three years cheated on him.
There was no one left in this world he cared about. They were all just strangers. Strangers who wanted to take things from him.
He was only eighteen, but he'd seen enough. After his parents' death the vultures had descended. Relatives and "friends," all wanting a piece of his inheritance.
It was too convenient. Too fast. They appeared right after the funeral, with their disgustingly greedy smiles and hungry eyes.
He had a sister who was two years older than him. She was the one who had gotten the other half of the money. But the moment she turned eighteen, she "happily" married their uncle.
Bullshit.
He knew the truth. He'd seen her crying herself to sleep after their phone calls. He'd seen her left naked and sobbing after their uncle left her room with a saint's smile plastered on his face.
Allen had been younger then. Which meant he was Powerless.
He knew what was happening, but what could a kid do? His father had been powerful, with connections to all sorts of places and people. His relatives were no different.
Sure they weren't quite on the same level as his father, but still much more than he could ever handle alone.
He still tried, of course.
Foolish kid.
All that got him was more of her sister's tears. And more marks. Ugly red and blue bruises that didn't fade for months.
He had cursed them all. Wished for their deaths every single second.
So when he turned eighteen, and they came for his share? He was ready. He knew being soft just got you crushed.
He did whatever it took. Cursed them. Kicked them out. Publicly accused them of everything.
He sent them running. Even this own sister, who had now been seasoned to do their bidding.
And then a few scandals later… everyone was gone.
He was alone. He coped by hiding in his room, playing games, and reading webnovels. His parents had left him enough money to survive for years. He didn't need a job. He didn't need anyone.
So no, he didn't care who died in these missile attacks.
He just wanted to enjoy the show.
WHOOSH!
More SAMs tore through the air, creating sonic booms. But they weren't chasing missiles this time.
Fighter jets.
Their engines roared through the sky. The interceptors tried to lock on, but the jets deployed countermeasures, dodging them easily.
Most of the air defenses were already gone, taken out by the initial missile strikes. The sky was now ruled by the jets now.
Allen knew what that meant. The SEAD missions were over, and now the real destruction was going to start.
He scrambled to the edge of the building, binoculars pressed to his eyes.
"Man, seeing this in real life just hits different," he said, a huge grin spreading across his face.
Then he saw it.
One of the jets launched an air-to-surface missile, and it was headed right in his direction.
"Shit!"
He ran. The other end of the roof was his only hope. Running down the stairs was useless since the missile would likely hit the building's core.
He was halfway across when it struck. The entire building rumbled violently.
"Ah, come on! It was just getting good!" Allen screamed in frustration. If the building collapsed, the show would be over. For him, at least.
He struggled to keep his balance as the building groaned, slowly leaning to one side.
A fighter jet soared past, just a few hundred feet above him. The sound was deafening. It tore at his eardrums, shattering his balance in the process. He fell, rolling across the tilting roof.
"You bastard! You'll pay for ruining my enjoyment!" he shouted, his eyes locking onto the jet.
He spotted his sports bag a few feet away. He lunged for it, with his fingers outstretched he grabbed the strap.
He ripped the zipper open. Inside was a long metal tube with a handle. It was old, rough, and heavier than it looked.
A 9K38 Igla. A Soviet-era, shoulder-launched anti-air missile.
A toy he'd bought at an auction. He never thought he'd actually use it. It was supposed to be a showpiece for his collection.
But things had ended up taking a very different turn, and he was more than happy about it.
His fingers moved fast. He jammed the power unit into the side and the weapon whined to life. The missile inside woke from a long slumber, its seeker instantly scanning the sky for a heat signature.
He hoisted the launcher to his shoulder and a small red light appeared in the sight.
The jet was coming back around. A low pass. It was in range.
BEEP.
A sharp tone sounded in his ear, and with that a smirk spread across his face.
Lock-on.
Without hesitation, Allen pulled the trigger.
The missile shot out of the tube, a loud burst echoing across the rooftop. It tore through the air, accelerating to twice the speed of sound.
The recoil sent him stumbling backward. The building, already dying, finally gave up and collapsed under its own weight.
Allen tried to grab onto something, anything, but the concrete slab he caught cracked and fell away with him.
He rolled off the edge.
He was in free fall, surrounded by the debris of his rooftop theater.
But before he smashed into the ground, he saw it.
A flash in the sky. An explosion.
His missile had found its mark.
The bright light reflected in his eyes, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.
Then, darkness.