Dawn broke over the Northern coast in brutal shades of bruised violet and blood orange.
In the subterranean command center, the air felt suffocatingly dense. I stood at the primary glass console next to Mia, watching the automated telemetry feeds. Every five seconds, the remote feed from the Western industrial zone updated: a towering plume of smoke covered the sky where Uncle Silvio’s single fuel refinery had stood.
Our tactical plan was working or so we thought.
Suddenly, the secondary tactical console flashed a violent, blinding crimson. A deafening, mechanical siren split the room, echoing off the stone walls.
"Priority alert!" Mia yelled, her fingers flying wildly across her holographic keyboard. "Saint Jude's pediatric ward security grid just went down! Armed units are breaching
