As the Red Nation’s forces prepared to unleash the red mist, the tension at Zion's base in Astana was palpable. Kassandra, glancing at the swirling gas on the monitor, raised an eyebrow. “This is kind of a war crime, isn’t it?”

Trickster shrugged, a sly smile on his face. “Take it or leave it! We need to capture the Emerald League before the coalition launches another offensive. Besides, its just a Collateral damage. and it’s not technically a chemical weapon. It’s… enhanced pollen. With a few… behavioral modifications. Think of it as aggressive aromatherapy. when they beg to peace. we will over them the anti dote. its pro gamer move!”

Zion stared at the screen, his expression troubled running a hand through his hair. "This changes everything."

“It does,” Kassandra said, her voice firm. “This will turn the entire world against us. We’ll be branded as monsters."

Zion, feeling the weight of the decision, relented. “Do it! Victory is imminent, and we have nothing to lose!”

“But this will taint our reputation forever...” Kassandra warned, her voice filled with concern.

Zion’s expression hardened. ‘War is hell, Kassandra. We do what we must to win. The consequences are secondary to our survival.’

Kassandra shook her head, her voice filled with concern. ‘But think about the fallout. This isn’t just about us; it’s about the civilians caught in the crossfire. What happens when the world sees this? The Red Nation will be painted as monsters, and we’ll lose any moral high ground we might have had.’

Zion’s gaze remained fixed on the monitor, the swirling mist reflecting in his eyes. ‘Moral high ground? In this war? There is no high ground left. Only victory or defeat. We can’t afford to be sentimental.’

Kassandra sighed, knowing the weight of his words. ‘But at what cost? If we unleash this, we’re not just fighting an enemy; we’re becoming the very thing we despise. The repercussions could haunt us long after the battle is over.’”

Zion stared at the monitor as the red mist began to spread over Tehran. He understood Kassandra's fears; committing a war crime could stain their legacy. war crime to minority is less backlash like he do in tribal society in past. but Tehran. its whole new level.

But a little moral ambiguity never stopped a good conquest, right?

Fast forward to early December in Tehran. The tranquility of the city shattered as the Red Army advanced, artillery fire echoing through the streets. Families scrambled for safety as panic set in, and the ominous red mist seeped into the atmosphere, forcing the Emerald League to scramble for masks.

Artillery shells burst overhead, showering the city with canisters that erupted in crimson smoke. Screams and frantic groans echoed through the alleys, buildings, and apartments. The red mist transformed all infected organisms into berserk carriers of an extreme rabies variant. The council ordered the extermination of all animals—birds, cats, dogs, even sewer rats—to contain the contagion. The streets echoed with the sounds of gunfire and panicked cries.

Emerald League security forces were forced to subdue infected civilians, resorting to leg shots or tasers. The most agonizing task was putting down beloved pets. While the Emerald League struggled with this grim duty, Red Army tanks rolled along the highways, driving straight toward the capital.

“We’re doomed! The enemy is advancing! We must hold Tehran at all costs!” Crips shouted, his voice barely rising above the chaos.

The Red Army pushed forward hard, like a giant wave crashing against the city. The Emerald League fought back as best they could, turning Tehran into a mess of rubble and fighting. But they weren't giving up.

Kaveh, one of the council members, had retreated to a country house outside the city. The sheer size of the Red Army invasion, and how many they’d already lost, had really hit him hard. He was in shock and betrayed by Zion. It was like… remember how Stalin worked with Hitler to split up Poland, and then Hitler just turned around and invaded the Soviet Union? It was that kind of betrayal.

But the other council members weren’t giving up.

In the Lalezar district, the Lions of Lalezar, led by the fierce Kinara, fortified the Grand Cinema, The ornate facade, once adorned with neon lights and art posters, was now scarred by bullet holes and reinforced with sandbags

Inside the grand auditorium had been transformed into a makeshift command center, with flickering holographic displays showing troop positions and makeshift medical stations set up in the lobby. They set traps, their resolve hardening as they prepared for the inevitable assault.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

But the Red Army was not without its advantages. Heavy artillery and Sentinel exosuits loomed over the Lions, who braced themselves for the onslaught. Kinara rallied her troops, her fierce spirit igniting hope despite the odds stacked against them.

As the battle raged on, the Grand Bazaar became a deadly maze. The Emerald League launched guerrilla attacks, using their knowledge of the labyrinthine alleys to ambush the Red Army. Narrow spaces hindered the Red Army’s Sentinels, making them vulnerable to Molotov cocktails and hit-and-run tactics.

“Alright, let’s make them regret ever entering our territory,” Kinara said, her eyes blazing with determination.

In the Borj-e Milad Museum, the Emerald League and the Red Army raced to secure valuable artifacts, the clash turning bloody. Secret passageways became strategic points for surprise attacks, as both sides fought fiercely for control of the museum.

“Protect our heritage at all costs!” Nigel, a council member, declared, rallying the Lions after witnessing the sacrifice of Phase 3. His words reignited their sense of purpose, reminding them of their commitment to defend the city.

Meanwhile, operatives scaled the Milad Tower, hoping to disable communications or deploy EMP devices. Red Army Gladiators occupied the observation deck, engaging in brutal close-quarters combat amid rising flames.

“Control the tower, control the information,”

Underneath it all, the Tabiat Bridge became a sniper’s paradise. Both factions engaged in tense standoffs, targeting each other’s key officers. The stakes were high; civilian spaces became battlegrounds, and the bridge’s destruction symbolized the war’s impact on the city.

Juggernaut surveyed the museum, , his gaze lingering on a shattered mosaic depicting a scene from ancient Persian mythology. "This place... it's more than just paintings and statues. It's a testament to their past, a past they cling to. They fill these places with ideas, with memories of a time before us. They whisper of empires and glories that challenge our rightful place. My ancestor, Genghis Khan, almost carved an empire that stretched from the Pacific to the Mediterranean.’

he rumbled. “Temples of stolen memories. They fill them with trinkets and tales of their past glories, trying to convince themselves they were ever anything more than thieves.” He kicked a broken display case, the shards of glass scattering across the floor.

“But they—the Europeans, the colonizers—they stole what was rightfully ours. They erased our legacy, wrote their own stories on our land. We will not suffer the same fate. We will control the narrative. We will control the future.."

He kicked a piece of broken marble, sending it skittering across the debris. "Mission accomplished," he grunted.

A younger soldier beside him looked uneasy. "Sir, was all this really necessary?"

The Juggernaut didn't answer directly. He gestured to a half-buried statue, its face chipped and scarred. "They say a nation is defined by its stories. By what they remember. What happens when you take those stories away?" He paused, letting the question hang in the air. erasing the enemy's history and thus their claim to the land. "They become malleable. They become ours."

Deep in the labyrinthine tunnels beneath Tehran, Nigel had transformed from a mere symbol to a pivotal leader. On New Year’s Eve, Crips burst into his quarters unannounced, a plate of food in hand.

“Happy New Year!” he exclaimed, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Hmmm… a fresh chicken fillet? That’s quite an unexpected treat, Crips. But I won’t turn it down.” Nigel accepted the plate, savoring the crispy batter and juicy meat.

“Delicious! Just what I needed after these exhausting days. Though I prefer mine with a side of Red Army tears.””

“Glad you like it!” Crips chuckled. “But seriously, you should listen to the council. Don’t lead the raid personally. You’re a high-value target now.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Nigel replied, acknowledging the concern. “I appreciate the warning. The Red Army is definitely gunning for me, so I’ll take the necessary precautions.”

As the battle raged outside, the tension in the air was thick with anticipation. The team prepared to strike back against the Red Army, knowing that every action could be crucial in the fight for Tehran. With their spirits bolstered by camaraderie and determination, they steeled themselves for the challenges ahead, ready to defend their home against the encroaching tide of destruction.

The stakes had never been higher, and as they faced the chaos of war, one thing was clear: they would fight for their city, their heritage, and each other. But even amidst the explosions and gunfire, some battles were quieter, fought with words instead of weapons. One day, Crips found himself winding his way up a rocky path to Kaveh’s secluded retreat. The place was practically a fortress, guarded by some seriously intense palace guards. Crips, armed with nothing but a folded piece of paper, felt a little out of place. He’d managed to convince them he was on official business—no easy feat considering Kaveh had gone full comms blackout—and they’d reluctantly let him slip the letter under the heavy wooden door.

kaveh who sit around on his cottage see the letter and read it.

"Father,

I've been thinking about us. About the past, about the future. I've always wanted to know more about you, about our family's history. I've seen the stories, the legends, and they're inspiring.

I know you've been busy, focused on the war effort. But I think there's more to life than just fighting. There's a need for something else, something beyond the battlefield.

I'd like to spend some time with you, just the two of us. Get to know you on a personal level. Maybe we can share stories, learn from each other. I'm not asking for much, just a chance to connect.

What do you say? Can we find some time to talk?

Your son, Nigel"

then after a while kaveh open the door. and hand a letter to crips. then crips go back to bunker of tehran. and hand it to nigel

"Nigel,

My son, I'm glad you're reaching out. I've missed you.

I understand your desire to know more about me, but the truth is, my life has been a complex one. I've made many mistakes, and I'm not proud of some of the things I've done.

However, I want to assure you that I've always loved you. You're my son, and I care deeply about your well-being.

I'm open to talking about the past, but I want to be honest with you. There are some things that I'm not ready to share yet. But I promise you, when the time is right, I'll tell you everything.

In the meantime, I'm happy to spend time with you. Let's go for a walk, or have a meal together. We can talk about anything you want.

I'm proud of you, my son. You've grown into a remarkable man.

Your father, Kaveh"

meanwhile in Kaveh cottage

He wants to know me? He wants to see the man beneath the mask? There is no man, only the mission. He is my son, my blood, but blood means nothing without loyalty. He must prove himself. He must be strong, unwavering, like steel. There is a ruthlessness in him, I see it. It must be nurtured, honed. The past is a tool, to be used or discarded as needed. Sentimentality is for the weak. I have built an empire on the bones of others. He will either inherit it, or he will become another bone in its foundation. I drink your milkshake, Nigel. I drink it up.