The Alliance's central broadcast tower—Stormspire—loomed above the horizon, veined with glass and cold metal. It pierced the clouds like a dagger aimed at the world's voice box.
Amber crouched beside Raven behind a snow-swept ridge, her breath slow, steady. “You still remember the layout?"
Raven nodded. “East access tunnel. Understaffed. Leads straight into the uplink control."
She adjusted her gloves. “Once we breach, I'll need five minutes to loop the data recordings. If we overload the system with truth..."
“It'll collapse the Alliance's broadcast grid," Raven finished. “No more silence. No more lies."
He looked at her. “You sure you want to see what's inside?"
Amber's voice was calm. “I'm more afraid of letting others *not* see it."
—
The breach was clean.
Too clean.
As they
