The warning sirens of Coldwater didn't wail; they screamed. It was a jagged, mechanical shriek that had been wired into the city’s bones a century ago, now resurrected to announce the end of the world.
I stood on the command parapet of the main gate, the wind whipping my hair across my face. My data-deck was hardwired into the perimeter defense grid. Below me, the city was a kicked anthill. Thousands of Revers, refugees, and Iron Wolves were scrambling into defensive positions, dragging heavy munitions, phased chains, and makeshift barricades into the choke points.
"Time to impact?" Dax asked, stepping up to the parapet beside me. He had swapped his SMG for a heavy, belt-fed explosive-round LMG he’d pulled from the Citadel armory.
"Three minutes," I said, my voice tight. I stared at the
