Corrin planted his foot into the chest of the fallen Imperial. His arms hung loosely in front of him. He faltered for only a moment, gaping at the fullness of the blood drenching his hands. A second passed. His body careened into the army of Imperials. He roared inhumanly as his knuckles burst through the skin of a soldier. "Corrin!" Someone called over the bloodbath. "There are too many." There were never too many. He was done running. He was done backing down. It was time to give the Imperials something to fear. "Corrin, get out of there!" Grange's voice finally registered in his mind as a great shock ran up his spine. "Take the other Crin, I will deal with Grant." growled the voice Corrin had grown to hate. He turned his head and looked in the direction of the limping Riktus. "Oh," Corrin began in a mock tone, "are you hurt?" Riktus laughed in a way very unlike the man Corrin had grown to hate. The layer of sarcasm was gone. The only emotions remaining were loathing and, Corrin smiled, fear. "Corrin, you understand that you have chosen the wrong side. I feel it. Your loyalty to your country is covering your better judgment." Riktus said, the normal tone retuning to his still shaking voice. "Look at your power! Do you fight for a doomed land, or join the right? I…" "Just save your breath," spat Corrin. "I will kill you here and now." "Corrin, move!" Grange called again. Corrin shook his head. "No, damn it, get out of the way!" His head spun. A tiny red dot centered itself on his eye. "Well played…" He whispered, more to himself than Riktus. He dove out of the way instantly. A blast shattered the glass on a second story window above him. The sniper had almost had him. Riktus had almost had him. He tore around the street. He heard someone following him. His body moved for him, rolling aside. He felt rubble smash into his open skin, but he ignored it. The figure dashed past his hidden position. With a great leap, Corrin tackled him. "Lay off, will you!" Grange shouted. "Sorry!" Corrin almost laughed. The situation was too dire. Grange raised his gun-arm and pointed down the alley, firing at pursuing soldiers. Corrin helped him up slowly, and they advanced down the street. Las-fire shot around their heads. Grange whimpered and skipped as one sprung from his ankle. Corrin drove onward, pulling his friend's injured form around the corner. "No, right, take a right…" Grange stammered. Corrin assumed they had brought some way to get out of this Hell-city. He followed the path Grange indicated, winding along streets. Fleeing Mericans and rampaging Imperials scrambled here and there across the battered streets. They rounded a final corner. A large A-10 sat before them. Mericans surrounded the huge transport, slugs darting from their guns into oncoming attackers. Flares dotted the sky, indicating safe heaven. Corrin realized this was a refugee evacuation mission. He would not be alone. There were others, still trapped in the city. He could not help them. He had a mission. Riktus would move on, his next target: The Capitalis defenses. Then Glory. Corrin could not, his head sunk as he though the word, 'waste' time finding those lost under the rule of the Imperials. Grange pulled himself onwards as Corrin examined the surrounding area. He stepped forward. A projectile soared by his ear. "Frak!" He bellowed. His body fell flat. Imperials charged from all sides. "They're making a final push!" Someone roared. "Everyone stand ground! Get the refugees in!" Corrin looked to see where Grange was. The adept's red cloak was disappearing up the loading ramp of the A-10. He slowly crawled to Merican lines, waving his hand in peace. His body was lifted by several soldiers. "You okay sir? Are you a refugee?" asked a helmeted soldier. "Corrin! Jackson, that's Corrin Grant!" said the other man. Corrin recognized the voice. He turned. "Jasper!" The two men stared at each other. "What are the odds!" Corrin made the Army Sect from his hand. Jasper returned the favor. "Reminisce later! We have a battle to win!" The helmeted man said exasperatedly. He lifted his 36 Shotgun and let loose a hail of fire upon the ravaging Imperial murderers. Corrin turned as well and watched as the empty slugs dropped from the exit slot. Fire blasted into the Imperial line. "Fall back into the A-10!" ordered someone. "We have them! We have the refugees!" Corrin knew they did not have all of them, but the commanding man was right, they had no choice. He began to move slowly backwards, continuously firing. Treacherous Souls began to vanguard the Imperials, making small hit and run attacks. They were a meat shield. He would not let Johnson be so. He moved forward. Jasper grasped his shoulder and pulled him back. "Let it go Corrin…" He muttered. Corrin shook his head. There was a crack. Corrin looked out from the top of the exit hatch. The sight before his eyes was disheartening at best. The Merican flag hung, swaying lightly in the wind. Las blasts and slug shots echoed across the sky as it wavered in the slight breeze. A spark, something light caught Corrin's eyes. He shook his head in disbelief. The flag was burning. Flames rose and embers burned across this symbol of the land he loved. That was it. Corrin knew what this was. He knew what this meant. Merica would fall. There was nothing he, nor anyone else could do. The Imperium would take this, the last bastion of freedom in the world. The others would fall quickly. It was what he did to fight back that would matter. And he would fight back. He would fight to his very death. The exit hatch slammed shut, and the flag was carried into the vicious currents of air. Corrin closed his eyes. He would have one thing: revenge