What the equatorial belt was to the globe, the Cordwell River was to Ataris: it divided the district into North and South. They crossed the great river on a bridge, the sole access road to the grounds where the towering broadcast antenna stood. Illuminated metal walls enclosed a sprawling area covering several miles. Massive protective barriers, their scale rivaling the city’s skyscrapers, appeared almost minuscule in the shadow of the immense tower. The tower’s belly disappeared into a cloud cover aglow with city lights.

Lex stared at the colossal structure through the frosted windshield of a transporter for a while longer, then lowered his gaze to his datapad. The live feed, transmitted by a media-savvy real estate tycoon from a neighboring skyscraper to the rebels, made the area behind the walls look more like a covert military base than a simple broadcasting station meant to supply Vega Prime and its citizens with independent news.

"You won’t get any wiser just by staring at it longer," said Tardino.

"I’m just trying to be prepared."

"You’re only driving yourself crazy."

"I’m running through all possible scenarios in my head."

"You’re trying to predict the future. But life doesn’t let itself be prepared for. Life hates giving away its secrets. I’d even go as far as saying that, in the end, the only thing that ever happens is what no one expects."

Lex pressed his lips together, set the datapad on the dashboard, and looked outside. The windshield turned into a kaleidoscope of vibrant, shifting colors. The wipers swung back and forth at full speed, but they were no match for the blizzard. Signal lights flashed along the arrow-shaped road markers pointing the way to the broadcast tower.

"Can’t you turn that racket down? It’s driving me nuts."

A group of painters had converted the outdated heavy trucks into modern delivery vehicles for a logistics company that delivered supplies to the broadcast tower every other Thursday at the same time. The sides of the cargo hold displayed the company’s commercial, playing on a loop; its cheerful, blaring music—a hymn to global logistics—penetrated the cab despite the closed windows.

"Not a chance," Tardino replied, reducing speed by five miles an hour. "We can’t afford anything that would blow our cover. The element of surprise is our only advantage. Besides, the music’s not half bad."

The checkpoint, illuminated by floodlights, came into view, the long straightaway now flanked by TC security forces. The guards scrutinized the approaching trucks with intense focus.

"What are those weapons?" Lex asked. "Did you see them? That goon’s got one—so does the guy next to him. Those aren’t normal rifles." He glanced at Tardino, who was staring intently through the windshield, his tongue flicking nervously across his lips.

"This is TC’s top unit," Tardino said. "Their mercenaries don’t use old-fashioned projectiles like us. They’re armed with energy weapons. Expensive to get, but way more precise—and deadly—than regular ammo. If you get even the slightest chance to snag one of those beauties, do us all a favor and grab it. A plasma weapon would tip the odds in our favor. Got it?"

"Got it." Lex swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat refused to budge. He suddenly wanted to turn back, undo the last few weeks, leave the rebels behind. Fear spoke through him, a survival instinct urging him to flee. His fingers fidgeted nervously with the designer glasses perched on his nose—a stylish, expensive pair provided by the rebels just before he’d left for DENOVA-2.

"Don’t lose your nerve, man. We’re all scared. But we focus on the mission. Just like Veela did."

Lex glanced at Tardino. "I—"

"The panic’s written all over your face. You need to calm down. It’s not TC who shapes the future... it’s us."

Through the pouring rain, the checkpoint emerged, a diffuse and glaring beacon. On the external monitor feed, Lex spotted a guardhouse by the massive entrance gate. A metallic sliding door hissed open, and two armed mercenaries stepped out, their gleaming full-body armor reflecting the harsh glare of spotlights. One of them raised a hand, signaling for them to stop.

"Here we go, buddy. Don’t look so grim. Slap on a smile or something. Just look like you belong so they’ll let us through."

Lex tried. He wiped the sweat from his brow and tightened his grip on the pistol hidden in his lap beneath an oversized carbon-fiber sweater. Meanwhile, Tardino slowed the transporter to a crawl, down to ten miles an hour, then five... before coming to a stop just short of the guards. Their armor gleamed in the high beams as they stepped into the snow-laden light, walking around the vehicle. The falling snowflakes highlighted the grid structure of the force field beyond the checkpoint, a barrier encompassing the entire gate, large enough to admit a full-length cargo truck.

One guard rapped on the driver’s side metal door.

"We don’t shoot unless we’re shot at first," Tardino whispered. "No firing until then, got it?"

Lex loosened his grip, lifting his finger off the trigger. "I—"

"Got it?"

The mercenary rapped on the window again, harder this time, his impatience clear.

"Yes, understood."

"Quiet now." Tardino rolled down the window. Snowflakes swirled in at an angle as he offered a friendly smile. "Good day, gentlemen. We’re here with supplies—right on the dot."

"You’re a bit early."

Tardino shook his head with a confident grin. "Right on the dot," he repeated.

"We received word the delivery was delayed due to a roadblock. You shouldn’t be here yet."

"Well, we make the impossible possible for our clients," Tardino quipped with a grin so self-assured it might have been the company’s slogan.

"Your ID and access pass." The voice that cut through the rain sounded synthetic, filtered through a voice modulator built into the mercenary’s integrated helmet.

Lex turned his head robotically toward the other side, stiff with fear. He stared directly at the threat. Another corporate guard stood outside the frost-covered window, rigid and unyielding against the storm, his laser weapon at the ready. Behind the golden, mirrored visor, it was impossible to discern any expression. For a fleeting moment, Lex had the wild notion that the mercenaries were androids. But the reality of human presence under the armor became undeniable as Tardino reached into a cloth bag, retrieved a grenade, armed it, and let it drop out the window.

Lex’s eyes widened in shock. He heard the guard curse and leap aside, but it was already too late. Silent as death, the grenade discharged, and every piece of electronics within several dozen meters died. The monitor went black, the dashboard displays went dark, and even the headlights flickered out.

Tardino floored the accelerator, and the truck jolted forward with a rattling roar, the convoy rolling into the tunnel.

"Why didn’t they shoot at us?" Lex asked.

"Same reason the force field’s down and we’re driving blind through this godforsaken tunnel," Tardino shouted. "That was an EMP grenade. Knocks out all electronics. Priceless, those things—if you could even buy them."

"Where’d you get it?"

"Told you... the Crimson Dawn has eyes everywhere. Even inside TC’s highest ranks, we’ve got people ready to fight the root of all evil."

The blinding light at the end of the tunnel rushed toward them. On the other side of the protective wall, they emerged onto the broadcast tower grounds. At that very moment, Tardino grabbed Lex by the back of his neck and shoved him toward the floor mat.

"Down!" he yelled.

The moment they breached the grounds, the windows around them shattered in a storm of glass. Bullets tore through the air, thudding dully against the truck’s metal shell.

The monitor flickered back to life as if by magic. What Lex saw froze the breath in his chest: they were speeding directly toward the massive concrete base of the broadcast tower. Why wasn’t Tardino slowing down? Why was he still accelerating?

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"You’re gonna get us killed! Brake!" Lex shouted.

But it was too late.

The truck collided with the concrete wall under the enemy’s relentless barrage. The deafening crunch of shattering glass and screeching metal roared around them. The impact felt like falling twenty meters straight onto asphalt. Lex hung forward in his seatbelt, dazed. Tardino unlatched his buckle and slammed a button on the dashboard, opening the cargo bay—leaving the rebels inside exposed to enemy fire.

"Wait," Lex called. "We have to let the others out first."

A deafening boom rattled the truck.

"What the hell was that?"

"One of their plasma cannons," Tardino growled. "They’re burning peepholes through the cargo bay."

"Then let’s get out of here before we’re toast!" Lex shouted.

Bullets rained on the transporter like hail on a tin roof.

Tardino nodded. A silent signal that it was time to escape the death trap. Lex slammed the release mechanism, and the gullwing door swung open. Without hesitation, he leapt down, Tardino following close behind.

A fire smoldered beneath the crumpled hood, eating its way through the truck from below and licking up the blazing front tires. Thick, black smoke coiled around them as they set foot on the grounds under a relentless hail of gunfire.

Lex immediately pulled his sweater over his nose, gasping more than breathing. His eyes burned as if thin needles were pricking them, but despite the pain, he forced them to stay open—he couldn’t afford to lose sight of his leader in the chaos. Tardino blurred into a shadowy, shapeless figure in the dense smoke.

"Wait!" Lex shouted.

Melted plastic, burning paint, and smoking engine oil combined into a noxious miasma, a frayed veil of poison that scorched their lungs. Desperately searching, Lex caught sight of Tardino’s silhouette and bolted after him. Gunfire and screams erupted all around. He found cover in a stairwell niche, and moments later, Tardino crouched beside him, shoulder to shoulder, both struggling to stay focused amidst the madness.

"Where do we go now? Damn it!" Lex’s voice cracked. He shouted the same question again, directly into Tardino’s ear, but there was no response.

Tardino’s face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. He peered over the contorted bodies of fallen comrades toward the western wall, where one of their trucks emerged from the tunnel, fully engulfed in flames—it didn’t even make it onto the tower grounds.

Mercenaries scurried back and forth through the broad beams of floodlights that flickered to life across the plaza. The remaining rebels were pinned down, trapped in a brutal crossfire but fighting back fiercely against the overwhelming enemy forces.

"Look at this," Tardino shouted. "We’re dropping like damn flies. Two minutes in, and we’re already on the defensive, half our people gone!"

Bright bands of focused energy crisscrossed the battlefield, leaving nothing but molten metal and charred flesh in their wake. The laser weapons' destructive trails hung briefly in the snowy air like glowing contrails.

"We’re dying for nothing if we don’t get up those damned stairs soon," Lex yelled.

"Good point." Tardino called for the surviving members of squads one and two to regroup, but it was useless. The rebels were huddled behind and beneath the trucks, inside fenced-off generator compartments, behind crates, makeshift barricades, and oversized weapon lockers—all trapped in the enemy’s deadly crossfire.

"Hope you did your homework," Tardino said.

"What?"

"The tactical basics. Did you learn them?"

Lex nodded frantically.

"Good. Then why aren’t you using them?" Tardino opened fire, aiming roughly at the mercenaries pinning down squad seven at the rear of the convoy.

Lex’s thoughts raced, recalling the maneuver... fire and movement, a tactic designed to—

"You know, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you’d lend me a hand," Tardino snapped, shoving Lex in the ribs. "Are you deaf? Stop overthinking and start giving our people some cover!"

Lex took a deep breath, raising his pistol. Even through the storm, spotting the glowing high-tech armor of the TC soldiers was child’s play. But before he could fire a single shot, Tardino nudged him again.

"They’re coming," Tardino shouted. "Look up!"

Against the dark gray, storm-torn sky, a formation of about a dozen gliders blinked into view.

"Our air support," Tardino yelled, grinning like a madman.

Lex stared at the gliders, eyes wide with disbelief, as a handful of gasping resistance fighters emerged from the smoke and ran toward their position. Almost absentmindedly, Lex pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"Aren’t they moving way too fast?" he asked, his voice trailing off.

Then he froze, unable to believe his eyes. The gliders streaked toward the broadcast tower at breakneck speed.

"What the hell are they doing?"

The gliders disappeared into the all-encompassing cloud cover. A moment later, the roar of staggered explosions thundered from above. The gliders must have slammed into the upper floors of the tower’s main structure at full speed.

Within seconds, shards of shattered windows rained down on the battlefield, confirming Lex’s worst fears. It wasn’t just his imagination—it had really happened.

He crossed his arms over his head as the hail of glass shards rained down.

"What a load of crap," he muttered. "Whose genius idea was this plan?"

"Mine," Tardino said, switching on the laser sight of his weapon. "And I don’t think it’s all that bad."

Lex tried to get a bead on a mercenary sprinting toward a flat-roofed, garage-like building on the western side of the base. Only after a second glance did he realize the soldier was manning a massive turret inside. He watched as the gun's barrels began to spin. Moments later, a barrage of projectiles tore chunks out of the tower wall, sending debris flying into his face and stray bullets screaming past his ears. Reflexively, he ducked and scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve to clear the dust. His hands trembled uncontrollably.

"Almost lost your head there," Tardino called out with a laugh.

"Yeah, thanks for pointing that out," Lex gasped, adrenaline coursing through him. "What the hell is that thing?"

"A six-barreled Gatling gun. Quite the lovely surprise," Tardino shouted over the deafening gunfire. "Didn’t I tell you? You can’t prepare for everything life throws at you."

"What now?"

"There’s only one option: take that gunner out, or everything we’ve fought for is lost. Veela’s dream of freeing the prison moons will die here."

Tardino grabbed Lex’s arm and pressed a grenade into his hand. "You know what this is, right?"

"Yeah, I know. But I’ve got no clue what to do with it."

"You circle around the tower while I draw his fire. When you’re in range, you toss that thing right into his hut. Got it?"

"Why me?" Lex weighed the cold, palm-sized grenade in his hand, desperately trying to think of another way.

"Pull yourself together and listen," Tardino said. "When you pull the pin, count to three—no more, no less—before you throw it. Understand?"

"And then?"

"It’ll release an electromagnetic pulse that’ll shut down the turret for a while. That’ll give us the window we need to get up the stairs to the tower."

Lex stared at the grenade in his hand, deep in thought.

"Think about why Veela risked her life," Tardino said. "To free the prisoners on the Kronos moons. Your people. Don’t you want to be part of that?"

He paused, as though hoping for a response, then yanked Lex by the collar of his sweater and shoved him toward the turret’s line of fire. Lex had no choice but to run—and he did.

Keeping low, he crept along the tower’s facade. Against his better judgment, he glanced back. Tardino crouched at the base of the stairs, back to the wall, blindly firing his submachine gun over his head in the turret’s direction. Lex saw the crumbling steps, the thick cloud of concrete dust enveloping the technician, then turned back toward his path.

He dove onto the rain-slicked asphalt, crawling under the riddled wreckage of a truck before emerging on the other side to continue around the tower. He must have covered nearly three hundred meters when he pressed himself against the masonry, panting heavily. His legs felt ready to give out under the crushing weight of his fear. All around him, people fired at one another.

The New World.

What had humanity learned in six hundred years?

The turret’s roar was deafening. Lex fought the urge to collapse in terror. Only twenty, maybe twenty-five meters separated him from his target—and the gunner hadn’t noticed him. The mercenary was completely focused on tearing apart Tardino’s cover, relentless in his efforts to expose the rebel.

A voice rang out in Lex’s head, sounding eerily like his own.

You should have listened to Miri.

She was right. Every war, every fight, only bred new chaos and suffering.

Lex flinched, trying to shake the rogue thought from his mind. He stepped sideways, yanking the pin from the EMP grenade as he moved. Aiming with his free hand, he counted down: three, two, one—and hurled the grenade in a high arc.

It landed in a rain-soaked puddle and rolled to a stop at the mercenary’s feet. The man didn’t seem to notice it. Lex braced himself for the EMP to shut down the turret, but instead, a massive explosion erupted, obliterating the garage-like structure.

Black smoke billowed upward, rising higher and higher above the collapsed roof.

Lex stood frozen, caught in the crossfire as if trapped in a nightmare. His mouth hung open, his wide eyes glittering with shock. He couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed.

"That was a goddamned grenade. A real fucking grenade," he shouted.

******

With the few remaining rebels, they charged the broadcast tower. The stairs, sprawling and ominous, resembled the ascent to the temple of some dark god. The face of the tower loomed above them, grim and imposing, constructed of concrete and anthracite-colored steel. Each lightning strike illuminated its slick, metallic surface in a blinding glare.

Lex paused at the side of the massive metal gate. Only eleven of the original hundred-plus rebels had made it up the stairs. Tardino fumbled for a fresh magazine from one of the countless pockets in his tactical vest, glancing toward the group and giving a quick nod. Without looking at his weapon, he let the spent magazine drop and slid the new one into the chamber with an audible click.

"Why the hell are the lights off in there?" one of the rebels near the gate asked, peering through the narrow crack in the door.

The technician moved forward, pressing his back protectively against the steel door. He shrugged off his backpack, unzipped it, and handed out a few flares to the group. He tugged the ignition cord on one, and the spark-spitting flare lit up as he tossed it into the dark corridor ahead.

Only then did Lex realize how the fear of the last few minutes had twisted his stomach into knots. An uncontrollable nausea churned within him—excitement, mortal terror, and the sickening stench of blood saturating the damp air. He spread his legs for balance, braced his hands on his knees, and vomited up what little remained of his half-digested breakfast—his last meal.

The others had stormed inside without him.

Behind him, the mercenaries broke through their defenses on the tower grounds, advancing ever closer. From beyond the massive double doors came the sound of boots clattering on a glass floor, machine gunfire, and screams.

Lex wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He stared into the flickering hallway and listened to the chaos. Suddenly, everything fell eerily silent. No more fighting. No more screaming. No more gunfire. Only the occasional sound of agonized groans echoed faintly from within.