The enemy's hold over another is like a balloon being continuously filled with air. Given enough time, it will burst into chaos and rebellion.


Chester Outskirts, 11:39, 19th March 2037, Jason's POV


How long were they going to be in there? What were they doing? Were they even alive right now, or were they in the bowels of the KPA's torture chambers? They surely had those. These questions flew threw my mind while I seated on a folding chair we had brought with us. Me, Milo and Lydia had holed up in a ruined building on the edge of the 'Dead Zone', aptly named for it being lifeless. Not even the birds would come near this place. That said something; this place was for the dead. And only them. That may have been why KPA patrols were so rare, mostly consisting of Stalkers. There had been a few close calls here and there, though they rarely ventured out this far. If they did, we'd take care of them. I had racked up a few Stalker kills, mostly thanks to the element of surprise, but Lydia took out the most with that rifle of hers. I could see why most people steered clear of her back at our base camp. She was our main lookout, Milo was our contact to base camp, as well as a listener on any transmissions from inside the walls, and I was just there. As backup. Sitting around, doing nothing.

My worries only increased as the hours passed by. It had been a couple days since Wyatt and the team had entered the sewer. We were running low on the food we had brought with us. We knew they had entered because the guide, a teenage boy who we had found earlier in the week, had come by. By now, he would be far from this place in some refuge made by whatever was left of the United States with his family. Or what was left of it.

My eyes were glued to the ground, watching a small beetle crawl by. At any moment, it could just die. Just like that. It could be from my shoe, or from some other bug, or maybe it's time could arrive. It made me think about things. About how fragile life is. That at any moment, we could just die. The thought sent shivers down my spine. I didn't like the idea of dying, nor killing people, and was pretty shocked at my own depressing thoughts. That's probably why I held back on that patrol some time ago. Let the others handle it. And I just sat there like the wuss I was. And I showed just how much of one I was when I was startled by someone moving over to me. But hardly anything someone would notice. Just a little jump, which probably looked like a shiver.

"You worry for them, no?" I turned my head to see who was speaking, though it was easy to tell from the thick accent. I nodded to his question, then turned back to the bug. It was gone. "They are fine. I am sure. Wyatt has been through worse." That lightened the mood a little.

"I'm sure he has...but has he ever done something like this?" That's when Milo grimaced.

"I admit, this seems rash for him. But he does what he does, and I stick with him all the way." And the mood went back down. There was a short eerie silence, then a crackle sounded from the radio. Milo limped away, giving a comforting pat on the shoulder before doing so. Once he was gone, I decided to stand and stretch my legs. They had begun aching from little movement. I wobbled a bit, but gained full balance and walked a circle to get the blood flowing in my legs. As I did, I examined the surroundings. There was an ashen wardrobe, with one door blown off, to the back wall. A table with two chairs sat in the middle of the roofless room, with both chairs laying on their sides. All the chalk white walls but the back one were half their height, with the tops jagged and crumbling, darkened by the explosion that had hit this building years ago. I could still smell the smoke rising from over the wall. The heat from the smoke made me begin to sweat when combined with the heat the sun gave off. And walking didn't seem to help that.

Looking up at the wall, I spotted the rising smoke trail. And next to it was a large airship. It was much like a blimp, armed with large weapons and spotlights. On the side, it bared the insignia for the KPA. The lights scanned the town over the walls, searching for targets. It gave me more reason to fear for Wyatt's life. I let out a long sigh. This seemed hopeless. There was only a small group inside with Wyatt, and possibly a small resistance against an entire army of heavily armed personnel, monstrous robots and giant blimps with guns that can tear apart our armored van in mere seconds. The odds were severely stacked against us. Would we even survive this? Would it be possible to win? That's all I could wonder as I saw the cloud of smoke, and listened to the metallic tapping nearby-

"Get down!" Lydia's rushed whisper came, and I did as ordered. We all hit the deck and rolled to the nearest cover we could find. I moved behind one of the chairs, shaking like a leaf in the wind. The wait for the incoming terror made me anxious, and it was not as terrifying as what we waited for.

I peeked out from where I hid, only my eyes and above being visible. Though I darted back when the clawed foot came down on the top of the broken wall. The light of it's blue eye shined onto the opposite wall, and began moving along it like the searchlight of death itself, watching for it's next victim.

Once it came to the chair, I tensed up. The light made a shadow around it...and passed by. I hadn't been spotted. But we weren't out of the woods yet. It continued to pass back and forth for what seemed like a lifetime. And then, there was a piercing screech. I resisted the urge to shield my ears from the dreadful noise. Just like that, it was over. And the Stalker was gone. Yet still I waited. Waited for the all clear. It came when I got a tap on the shoulder. Milo raised a finger to his lips, signalling to be quiet. The machine may have left, but they were smart. It could have been waiting nearby, and all we had to do is make one little sound. All I could do was silently hope for Wyatt's survival.


Chester, 11:50, 19th March 2037, Wyatt's POV


The ceiling rumbled under the movement of vehicles on the streets. Possibly tanks, or a lot of foot soldiers. Me and two others waited, with the hood of our hooded jumpers covering our faces, crouched against the walls, being quieter then mice trapped by a cat. In fact, that's how we felt. One wrong move, and anything could hear us. A drone was the highest possibility. Our eyes were glued to the manhole above, just waiting for it to move. For the urgent shouts of KPA troops above. Small ripples appeared in the water around the other two's knee-deep legs, but mine were still. I had my trusty USP.45 handgun in hand, ready to be brought up to shoulder height in a mere second.

"We're screwed man, screwed" one of the other's whispered with a panicked voice. My eyes dart to him, and my finger pressed to my lips in a signal for him to shut up. He shut up, covering their mouth with their spare hand. In their other hand, they held a bag with supplies. After a long wait, the shaking halted. No more footsteps or rumbling was heard. Slowly, I raised my spare hand and flicked two fingers forward. The other two nodded, and began moving forward. We slowly moved forward, my eyes sticking to the manhole.

To wrap my head around things, I reminded myself of the situation. Things had gotten worse here in Chester. During our little scouting routines, we had found areas that overlook the wall and seen executions and patrols, but nothing like this. There were massive house raids, larger executions, and that airship. That was our biggest problem. It's searchlights were made to spot targets, and transmit that to nearby patrols. But this airship was also armed with weapons. If we drove a vehicle onto the streets, it wouldn't last five seconds against it. Already, myself and the team brought in had seen how many losses the newly founded Resistance inside had suffered. And that was one of the reasons I couldn't let Jason come with us. Just seeing all of them, he wouldn't be able to stand it. And the chance of any of them being family or friends, it would destroy him, emotionally. His mind would be beyond repair, and then, the chance of taking his own life...

I couldn't think about that. Not at the given time. Our lives were at risk, and I had to focus on that situation. We were going slow enough, with our backs bearing the weight of scavenged supplies such as food and ammunition from recent street fighting. We hadn't run into any trouble, and wanted to keep it that way. We had seen the streets, the ruined buildings with rubble covering the roads. Whoever was in charge of this garrison, they were ruthless.

We soon reached our destination. A manhole that had been hidden from the streets by a toppled vehicle. At least, that's what it appeared to be. I was first up, pushing the cover aside. On my right, there was the overturned car. It had been pushed by the Resistance to hide the manhole, so as long as we stayed crouched, we would be fine. We were also in Resistance territory, which was filled with traps. That made it harder for the KPA to get through, although they were small traps, like grenades with tripwires, and barricades. But these were only small traps that would slow down the oncoming attacks.

The other two came up into the light of day, revealing their faces. First was a middle-aged man with a light skin tone. He had a red hooded jumper and brown shorts. His legs below the knees were drenched, hair on his leg dripping with sewer water. The next one was a younger man, with slightly darker skin, like he had been in the sun too long. He had a dark green hooded jumper, and his trousers were the same color. He was the one I had to signal to be quiet. Both of these men were not part of my team, and were newer members to the small Resistance.

"It's clear" the younger one stated, scoping out the area around the side of the vehicle on it's side. I nodded, and while staying low, moved into the building behind the vehicle. Inside, it was an empty bar. The counter had empty shot glasses, some tables were overturned as well as chairs, and one curtain for one of the windows had half of it hanging down from the top of the window. After me was the older man, then the younger one, watching backwards. Although he did stumble, his gun dropping from his hand. If the older man hadn't been closer, and didn't have fat reflexes, it may have fired and killed someone, let alone revealed their position.

"Be careful" I hissed quietly through clenched teeth, trying to sound calm. He gave a look of apology, his eyes moved to the floor. "You have to be more careful with your weapon. Understand?'' He nodded, and I gave a quick satisfied nod back.

We crept to the bar, and then I rapped my knuckles on it in a rhythm. The dusty air filled with silence, then the rhythm was repeated from behind the counter. There was the sound of wood creaking, and a trapdoor opened in the floor. This time, I held back, covering the others as they descended down into the tunnels below. There was a metal groan from the ladder down the hole. At any given moment, it could give way.

On the street outside, there was nothing that could threaten us. At least, not that my eyes could see, or my ears could hear. Once the sounds of the ladder stopped, I knew they were down. So I slid myself across the bar, and my feet landed next to the gaping hole. With my left foot, I lowered my self down into the hole, placing my boot against the first rung. I continued down with my right foot, then once low enough, placed my spare hand on the rung. As soon as my hands were at the third rung, I grabbed onto the rope attached to the door and pulled on it slowly, closing it, then locked it. I then continued down until my boots touched the dirt below. The room below had a few hanging lights, swinging around when another shake came through from an explosion somewhere. There were several wine racks lined against the side walls, some of them moved there to clear some room for the tables and other much needed equipment, which I thought some of it was unnecessary compared to other things they could have gathered. Such as the board games someone brought in. They could have left them. And the amount of clothes they brought. I remembered the time I left my own home, and all I took was a weapon and the clothes on my back.

I moved to one of the tables where my team waited. Ron was the first to notice my presence, and nudged Artie with his shoulder.

"You bring what we need?" I paused, then hauled the pack onto the table, in the middle of the map on top. Ron was the first to grab the top of the bag and opened it, revealing the contents. Inside were some ammo mags, a couple of handguns and some parts for a little project of theirs, such as armor plating. "You sure this'll work?" he asked. I nodded confidently. It was a well thought at plan. Except for one thing. We would need help, from the outside. And as of yet, we had no way to contact the outside world. But as it turned out, the small Resistance was more organised than we first believed.

"We have some news you guys might want to hear" said a voice from behind me. I turned to find a guy in his late teens, around the same age as Jason. Possibly a little older. "One of the scouts we sent out found what has been preventing any calls beyond the wall. A set of trucks with jamming stations in their trailers. Here, here and here" he continued, pointing them out on the map. While he did, he peered into the bag. "What's all this for?"

Artie grabbed the top zipper tight to close the bag then the handles, pulling it towards him and glared at the teen, then made a shooing motion. "None of your business, kid. Now move along before I make you." The teen scowled and began to walk away, still scowling at Artie. Once he was gone, I too glared at Artie, and he shrugged at me. "What?" I rolled my eyes, and looked at the points the boy had pointed to. Still thinking that Artie didn't have to act so rough. They were all at three different intersections, and would most likely have had reasonable defenses.

"We need to attack them soon. Only then, can we call out for help. But to do that, we need a diversion." I looked about, then pointed to a single broad looking man in the group. "You, think you can lead the diversion team?" He looked stunned for a moment, then nervously nodded.

"I..I can try...Sir."

"Don't try, just draw them away. Hit something small if you have to, but if it's small, make it multiple targets. Can this be done?" I asked, this time to everyone. The others nodded. "So we are in agreement?" They nodded again. "Good. Be back here in an hour, with light gear and explosives. Now, get moving." They left in a hurry, but in a sensible manner, while I took up a chair. In my opinion, I was ready. I only hope they're listening. Or there may be no hope for any of us. I stopped the one in the lead of the diversion team.

"By the way, don't call me sir."


Chester, 13:00, 19th March 2037, Wyatt's POV


The others gathered around the table, Ron and one of the Resistance 'leaders' beside me. Personally, they were a little disorganized. I couldn't stress that enough. But weren't we once like that? Disorganized, with no leader. Even still, we have no leader. At least, I didn't think of us having one, even though I knew everyone thought of me as their leader.

"Are you sure this plan will work? Our supplies are limited as it is" the 'leader' stated. I gave him an intense stare, crossing my arms.

"I'm sure of it. We don't do this, then we will surely run out of supplies. You can't hide in the shadows forever, because the shadows won't stay forever. They will find you eventually." The leader looked back to the map, choosing to ignore me. I did the same with him, and glanced across the table to Ron, who had a skeptical look towards the very old man.

I moved my index finger over to one of the points on the laid-out map, a circled area. "According to our sources, one of the jammers is here. I'll take a team there. Ron, you take a team to this one, and Artie will take the last." They both nodded in confirmation. "Good. Lead teams of two. Choose wisely, because they may be the last you serve with...Good luck, all of you." They nodded once more and left, taking their gear with them. I started with them, until the old man halted me in my steps.

"I don't want you doing this. It could reveal our position." My only response was a smug look, with a witty remark.

"If they wanted to hit you, you would already be gone. They're just biding their time, waiting for you to become more of an apparent threat. What you need to do is become a threat before they realize it, strike where they won't expect. Now, excuse me while I do this for you." I pushed past him, my expression returning to serious. Sure, the KPA might have been expecting them to hit the trucks. All we really needed was a diversion.

I went up the ladder to find two others waiting for me. It seemed the others had already left. I could only hope they had more luck then the dead. Then again, some would consider the dead to be the lucky ones. And sometimes, I did too.

We moved out of the building, and by then we could hear distant explosions. Our diversion team had been set to work, doing what they could.

"Let's move."


Ron moved through the alley ways, his two members behind him. He had a Diablo SMG with a red dot sight. In his pack on my pack, he had two C4 charges they had brought with them from base. He knelt down, and pulled out the small map he brought with him. Laying it out before them, he looked down at it and pointed to a circled position, then looked ahead to a nearby street sign.

"It's just down the street. Walker, go into the building on the left and provide over watch. We'll stay down here." The man on his left nodded and fell back until he found a door next to a dumpster, and opened in quietly before entering it. The other two moved forward, stopping just before the exit of the alley. Ron peeked out around the corner, finding their target down the street. It was a black truck, with a trailer attached to the back. The back of it is opened up, revealing a satellite in the top. Ron signaled for his last follower to move forward, with him taking the lead. They moved from cover to cover, being careful to avoid the sight of the enemy ahead. He counted four plus foot soldiers, including an auto-turret. There could be an even higher amount on the outside, and hopefully the other rebel had found a way around to that side. They stayed knelt down by a half destroyed car, with all but one door on the ground.

He held out his hand, holding up three fingers before him and his partner. On three, his partner popped up from cover, firing a spray of bullets upon the squad of troops. Ron remained crouched, and began moving from cover to cover, staying low. He thought himself close enough when all that was left to cover was a large stretch of road. And with more fire coming from the second rebel in the building, it should have been easy. And it was.

He rolled forward, then went into a full sprint. Several bullets hit the asphalt behind him. He felt the heat of passing bullets, skimming him by inches. And when he arrived at the target, he got to work. The man pulled his pack from his back, and retrieved one of the charges, placing it against the truck. And that was all he had to do. He ran as fast as he could, and dove through a window, his other partner following. While diving, he had the detonator in hand, and sent the truck into a fiery blaze.

"Let's hope the others are doing well!" he shouted aloud to his partner, then began blind firing from cover.


Artie dove out of the way as another barrage of fire came from the auto-turret. If he had been facing the other way, he would have seen one of his allies being shredded apart by the auto cannon's rapid fire and heavy caliber rounds. But he saw the result when he turned back, and felt sick in the stomach. Looking away, he peeked over the cement block he was behind to see a computer on their side. The ally who had been killed had the explosives. Although Artie had another plan.

"Cover me!" he shouted to his other partner, who was firing from a shop window. There was a barrage from their weapon, and he charged forward. He had lost his own weapon earlier, and was defenseless, save for his knife. When he reached the console, he began rapidly typing. If he couldn't destroy it, then he would use it to their advantage. Looking to the screen, he had a hopeful smile. "Please be listening" he prayed, and he pressed the Enter button, then fell from a sudden shot to his leg.


That's another chap. And next up, a whole bunch of crossfires, explosions, bullets flying, blood spraying, explosions...did I say that? Well, there's going to be explosions. A lot of them. So see you all then, in the next chap.