The morning sun bleeds onto the battlefield as the last shots are fired. White flags stained with dried maroon and soot are raised from the bomb-scorched mounds of the Pavolian machine gun nests. Sunlight floods the mountainous forests around the Manor House, revealing the blood that had been spilled and the lives that had been lost. Whatever snow on the ground that hadn't been tossed by various munitions was painted crimson.
Altare's M3A1 Stuart tank, the Tempest, earned its name - baptized in smoke and blood. All eleven PCC tanks return to the Manor House, creaking and groaning as they rode up the steep mountain pass. Scratches from machine gun shots and dents from mortar blasts pepper their hulls.
'It's a miracle they managed to survive,' some of the onlooking uniformed Elysians marching around them think to themselves. "Lucky bastards have armor, at least," others spit under their breaths. Deep down, though, everyone breathing feels fortunate enough to be able to even do so to begin with.
And these steel beasts, alongside the tankers within them, are tired, bloodied, dirty, but above all else, victorious.
Altare pops out of the cupola of his tank, breathing in the mountain air. It reeks of iron and carbon.
He and his tankers are greeted with meager cheers by the Elysians - both Correctional Infantry and the Regular Army - but their cheers are muted. After all, Elysian blood tainted the forests too.
And in the ballroom of the Manor House itself, a rancid smell wafts from wall to wall.
. . .
Altare and the crew of the Tempest get out their tank and land on cold, crumbling soil with a crunch. Out of action once more, they begin the grueling work of sorting out their losses. Elysian and Pavolian dog tags pile up in Altare's corner, making him reach for his own dog tag solemnly.
'This is all that's gonna be left of us if we lose...' his thoughts guide him along.
"Too many bodies here, Altare," Vesper huffs, resting a shovel on his neck. "We're not gonna be able to bury all of them at this rate."
"We're not burying them, gentlemen," Ollie interrupts. She marches over to Altare and Vesper and points to the bodies. "We're burning them. We can't commit to the usual niceties in our situation - not when we're under strength and under pressure."
"Lieutenant Kureiji...!" Altare and Vesper turn to her and salute.
"Don't salute me!" Ollie hisses. "That Pavolian sniper could still be out there."
The two men comply and look out to the devastated forests. Though torn asunder, the two still regain that feeling of being watched.
"...We can't be too careful," Altare concedes. "So, what can we do for you, ma'am?"
"I need you to come with me into the Manor," Ollie answers. "I'll leave the burning of the corpses to you, PFC Noir."
"Ma'am, yes ma'am," Vesper dutifully barks, nearly saluting her again. "I'll relay your orders to the rest of the troops."
"Please do," Ollie nods. She turns to Altare, gesturing to the peppered but standing manor. "Corporal Regis, shall we?"
Altare nods and follows Ollie through the mahogany doors of the Manor House. As their boots stomp through the halls, they watch the soldiers clearing up the bloody bodies from the once pristine estate. Altare tries to turn away, but the signs of death surrounded him no matter where he looked.
'Never figured undertaking was part of the resume,' Altare muses grimly.
Relief comes when Ollie takes him into the living room where he once recuperated. Aside from the smashed windows and now boarded-up windows, Altare finds it relatively clean in its current state. The crackling fireplace fills the room with the scent of pine, keeping his mind off the lingering stench of decay from awhile ago.
Inside that room, four people wait for them: Captain Baelz Hakos, Captain Calliope Mori, Mr. Shinri Josuiji and Lieutenant Gawr Gura.
Altare crosses the aisle and approaches the newcomers. Knowing who each of them were and what they did for him and his men, he almost feels compelled to bow before even meeting their gaze. The corporal doesn't, however. A quick salute is all he offers.
"Howdy, son," Captain Mori speaks with a thick, Eastern Elysian drawl. She rises up from her seat and tips her ten gallon hat, meeting him halfway at the aisle. "Mighty fine work out there. Reminds me of the good ole' days when we tamed the Wild East."
"Ah, yes. I've read those stories of your grandfather, General Mori – 'The Pale Mentor' – and his expeditions." Altare answers, shaking Calliope's hands, "My sister loves them. She'd taken to wearing ten-gallon hats at home too because of them."
"Heh. Everyone's a fan of gramps, it seems," Calliope comments, adjusting her hat. "Looks like I've got big shoes to fill." Then, she grins again, "But with excellent spotting work like you did last night, I can 'teach the secret of life that nobody wants to learn' all the same!"
"I look forward to working with you, ma'am," Altare nods.
"Likewise," Captain Mori huffs as she pats Altare's shoulder.
Next, Shinri Josuiji rises from his seat, rustling the tassels of his warm Xenokunian poncho that covers his large, mighty frame. A thick, leather glove covers his left hand too, but not on his right.
The Xenokunian, though, stays put by his seat. He invites Altare to come forward with a smile. The corporal obliges and shakes the man's hand firmly.
"Gemstones' blessings upon you, Corporal Regis," Shinri greets.
"And Kanata's upon you," Altare answers.
"Ah, a gentleman and a scholar." Shinri's smile brightens with delight. "Not many Elysians know the proper response anymore, even though our faiths were once united. Though, the Pavolians have long since forgotten that. My colleague, the good Friar Banzoin, would be most pleased."
"I only learned about it fairly recently," Altare admits. "My adjutant, PFC Noir, is teaching me Xenokunian customs."
"I would very much like to meet this Mister Noir, Corporal," Shinri nods, but he is interrupted by Gura clearing her throat. He laughs heartily and nods to Altare. "But first, I believe we have business to discuss."
Shinri and Calliope return to their seats and they pull up a chair for Altare. The moment of silence reminds them of the fireplace crackling nearby.
. . .
"Thank you for coming, everyone," Bae addresses the group as though they were accompanied by dozens more. "Now that we're all here, let's clean house - in more ways than one." She leans forward and sighs. "First thing's first – excellent work defending the Manor House. I received a telegram from the Prime Minister in Metro Elysia thanking you all for your service."
"We were just doing our job, ma'am," Ollie grins.
"And the Prime Minister expects you all to keep doing so," Bae answers. "She and the War Cabinet have doled out promotions. Paperwork and insignias are still en route, but we have our ranks."
She turns to Ollie and proclaims, "First Lieutenant Kureiji. Your rank is now formalized."
"Thank you ma'am," Ollie holds her head up high.
Bae turns to Altare and continues, "Corporal Regis, you are now a Sergeant of the Elysian Army. You've been leading tank sections better than most of the sergeants I have in my Company, and you proved it tonight. Congratulations, son."
"I'm honored, Captain," Altare answers dutifully.
"Last but not least," Bae says as she lays her hand over her heart, "Effective immediately, you must refer to me as Major Baelz Hakos."
"Well met, ma'am," Ollie chimes cheerfully.
Bae heaves a sigh, but she gives a rare yet tempered smile.
"It's not quite the blessing you'd think it'd be, Kureiji. Believe me," Major Hakos shakes her head. "I've been bumped up to be the adjutant of the Brigade, and I command the Battalion that covers Charon Company, Hakos Company, and Xenokunian allied militia units."
Arms folded, she leans toward them and sighs. "That puts me directly in charge of the operation to rescue Lieutenant Amelia Watson."
Then and there, Altare swears he hears fingernails rap on the wood of the mahogany table they are seated around. Nobody else seems to have noticed, however, so he lets the thought go.
"...First order of business is reconsolidating our frontline," Major Hakos reports. "The Lieutenant Colonel - now a full-angel Colonel, mind you - taking over for 'her highness' Olivier is adamant that the Brigade won't lift a finger if we don't make our defenses airtight."
"I sure hope this Colonel's bringing us reinforcements, then," Captain Mori grumbles. "Charon Company's already committed to the offensive. We're Mechanized Infantry. Assault troops." She folds her arms and stomps her foot, "I'm not deploying platoons for garrison duty."
"The Colonel said she's bringing conscripts from the capital," Bae reports. "We'll be emptying our prisons soon enough... and I heard Parliament's debating if we should mobilize the girl scouts and boy scouts."
Everyone in the room falls silent.
Except for Ollie.
"THAT'S ABSURD! They're just kids," Ollie protests.
"I'm not here to argue legislation with you, Kureiji," Bae argues. She leans back into her chair. "Pavolia already does it, and we're getting closer and closer to resorting to that - to scraping the barrel."
Ollie snorts angrily. She shakes her head, but says nothing more.
"Speaking of children," Bae starts, "Olivier's assassin, Anya Melfissa, has started talking a bit more - though she hasn't said anything particularly useful... or nice."
"Yeah, I had to translate it all," Ollie sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Kid's got some sharp wit and a sharper tongue. But we got 'er to spill."
"She says that the plan in the Manor House was to kill Olivier and set everything ablaze, all while forcing ECN to film it all," Bae continues in Ollie's stead. "They wanted propaganda films for Pavolia and a warning to Elysium for what'll come next."
Shinri shifts in his seat. Calliope, meanwhile, takes off her hat.
"To think the Pavies could even convince young'uns to do this kind a' shit," Calliope remarks.
"I can," Shinri joins his hands together, "since my partisans and I have seen how Pavolia raises its children now. I've seen the Imperial Youth rallies in Xenokuni City. Their spectacles and speeches from the Empress don't resonate with everyone, but for those kids who lend their ears and their hearts... their loyalty to the Empress and their willingness to twist Mother Towa's wisdom reached fanaticism."
Shinri's blue eyes swim with displeasure. "But of all of Pavolia's loyalist daughters, I know of one who stokes hellfires with glee – eager to see everything before her burn."
The admittance drapes disgust on the faces of all in the room save for Ollie, as though she's heard it enough times that it's tired her.
"...Her work precedes her, it seems. You're talking about Zeta Vesti–" Ollie deduces, but is cut off promptly.
"I dare not utter her name, for her actions have spat on the divine faces of the Trinity," Shinri furrows his brow, voice flat yet firm, as he rests them on his knuckles. "Her unit's exploits are well-known by several resistance cells. Felt by hundreds, thousands, more civilians. The 101st is a force out of hell, and Pavolia's given them the sharpest pitchforks."
He glances at Ollie. "The difference between this demon and the other heretics of Pavolia is that she gets things done. Your dead Brigadier, and all of the bodies you must burn, are proof."
"The 101st... their armor?" The confident Calliope tenses up at the mention of it. "Wait, so that's what my unit ran into back in..."
"You've fought them before?" Ollie asks.
"You mentioned a 'Captain Zeta.' The 101st. Descriptions line up, so it's likely," Calli reports. She turns her hat in her hands and lowers her gaze. "A lot of battlefield promotions happened because of them. I hate to say it, but that's how I became Captain so quickly."
She turns to the others gathered in the room. "This Zeta also has a knack for targeting high ranking officers."
Altare suddenly shudders.
"Yesterday, when the Pavolian attack began," Altare starts, "that sniper was trying to kill off Lieutenant Gura."
He looks to the boarded up windows and then to the ceiling. "They would have had a clear shot of both Lieutenant Gura and Brigadier General Olivier... but they went after the lieutenant first."
Gura shrinks in her seat.
"Could it be... that this operation has already been compromised?" Gura shudders, covering her face. "How much do the Pavies know? What are they planning?"
Her face goes pale. Her fingernails dig into her skin, "Have they caught Ame!?"
"We don't know that yet," Ollie barks, trying to intervene. She turns to Shinri and asks, "Mister Josuiji. Have your partisans gotten any news about Lieutenant Watson?"
Shinri folds his arms and shakes his head, wincing. "The networks of The Resistance have been in disarray since Pavolia's crackdown. We lost contact with Lieutenant Watson during that time, so I don't have much intel about her." He squeezes his leather-gloved hand and grumbles. "What little intel I do have has a lot of conflicts."
Gura bites her thumb. Shaky eyes dart to everyone around her as she slams the table and rises from where she sat.
"We have to rescue her right away," Gura hisses. "We have to deploy. Right. NOW."
"We'll deploy when the time is right," Bae answers.
"WHEN?! FUCKING WHEN?!" Gura lashes out at Bae.
"When we're sure that the Pavies aren't trying to use your lieutenant to lead us into ANOTHER trap!" Bae counters firmly.
"I...!" Gura tries to argue, but she stops herself.
"You're OSS. Counterespionage is your thing," Bae sighs. "Check and double check your sources. Weed out the Pavie spies that could be lurking around here."
Her blue eyes look straight into Gura's. "We're going to rescue Lieutenant Watson, but we're going to do it right. I'm in charge of this operation. I'll make the call. Is that understood?"
Gura clenches her fists, gripping at her torn, dusty trousers, "Yes ma'am..."
"You'll have our full cooperation." Bae reassures. She glances at Shinri and Calliope, "The same goes for you too, I hope."
"But of course." Shinri nods.
"Likewise." Calli puts her hat back on.
Bae turns to Altare and Ollie. "Kureiji. Regis. Get your PCAPs ready to sortie. We'll roll out the operation as soon as Lieutenant Gawr accounts for everything."
"Yes, ma'am," Altare and Ollie stand in attention.
"Good. Now get out of my face." Bae waves her hand, shooing them away.
With that, Altare and Ollie excuse themselves and march out of the living room. On their way out, though, as Ollie passes by the mantle of the fireplace, she pauses for a moment.
"Something wrong, Kureiji?" Bae asks.
"Nothing, ma'am," Ollie says. "Just wondering where the painting of Empress Reine went."
...
Ollie takes Altare out to the courtyard of the Manor House, calling up the PCAP troops to rally them together. They pass by a machine gun nest. Empty bullet cases rattle underfoot like chimes.
"At least most of the bodies are gone now," Ollie mumbles.
"We're the 'Fighting Undead,' alright," Altare reminds her. "It's a bit of a problem our 'zombies' don't come back for a third helping, though."
Ollie scoffs. Her breath fogs up in the frosty air.
"But we're still here, Sergeant Regis. We're still here," Ollie replies. "I don't know if you Hei-min believe like we Pavolians do, but our Divine Mother Towa says that we're alive because there is still something for us left to do."
"I don't believe in Kanata more than the average Elysian, Lieutenant, but I think you're right," Altare answers, looking up to the cloudy sky. "We still have something worth fighting for. Otherwise, we would have given up long ago. That's what I believe."
Ollie smiles.
"Speaking of things worth fighting for, I have some things for you, Sergeant Regis." Ollie fixes the satchel slung over her shoulder and rifles through it. "Captain... I mean, Major Hakos got this while she was on her R&R at the port town on the exclave on the continent. Mail ships have been coming less frequently, but..." She brings out an envelope. "This should be yours."
Altare stops. He takes the envelope in his hands with the utmost care, taking in every detail: the weight, the texture and the print.
'K. Kanaeru'
'1411 Aquamarine Rd.'
'Metro Elysia, South Elysium'
"Kobo..." Her name escapes Altare's lips.
"Keep it for now, Sergeant," Ollie urges. She reaches into her satchel again and brings out a knit scarf.
"She read my letters," Altare gasps, taking the scarf. He holds the scarf firmly and scoffs. "I've been wanting one of these for a long time."
Altare tears up, holding the scarf close to his chest.
"You're a good man, Sergeant Altare, and you're protecting a good girl," Ollie pats Altare's shoulder. "War is hell, but you're fighting for an angel here. You protected Miss Kanaeru from a bitter fate in Pavolia." She frowns and looks up to the Starfall Banner flying in the courtyard, "It's a tall order, but we've got to fight even harder now to keep her away from the front... I don't wanna see Elysium's hand be forced to do the unthinkable and send children to war too."
Altare wipes his tears and speaks wholeheartedly. Fires burn in his green eyes as he speaks, "I'm not gonna rest until I do, ma'am."
"Good lad." Ollie pats his shoulder again. "Oh, and..."
Ollie pauses. She sniffs the mountain air.
"Did they start burning bodies already?" Ollie wonders, "They shouldn't have done it this close to the Manor House."
Altare sniffs the air too. Something is burning, but Altare knows that it wasn't bodies.
"I don't remember giving a burn order for anything else," Ollie adds. She sniffs again. "It almost smells like incense..."
With scarf in hand, Altare jogs towards the source of the smell. He runs up to the courtyard ledge and finds it - a raging fire in the heart of the frosted gardens of the Manor House. He spots PCAPS and Regular Army soldiers gathering all sorts of items from the Manor House - anything royal blue or reminiscent of Pavoliana.
Shouting breaks out in the gardens. On one side, PFC Axel Syrios and a handful of Elysian soldiers shout slurs and profanities to the high heavens. On the other side, PFC Vesper Noir stands beside Xenokunian partisans shouting back at them.
Then, in the middle of it all, their Prisoner of War, Anya Melfissa, is gagged and tied to a chair just a stone's throw away from the fire.
"Lieutenant!" Altare calls, "We have a situation!"
. . .
Under the light of the raging fire burning in the garden, Axel and Vesper face off on opposite sides of the aisle. Frustrated Elysians line up behind Axel while infuriated Xenokunians stand by Vesper. Magni and a slew of other Elysians and Xenokunians watch from a distance. All the while, the once-regal portrait of Empress Reine Pavolia burns alongside royal blue Pavolian flags.
"What the fuck are you doing on that side, gramps?!" Axel Syrios growls at Vesper, baring his teeth and shaking his fists. "You saw what the fucking Pavies did in that ballroom!"
He pounds his chest as he protests, "We were in the same tin can just a while ago and the Pavies were trying to tear us to shreds at every fucking turn!"
"Fighting the Pavolians on the battlefield is one thing, but this is NOT how we win wars, Axel," Vesper warns. "Burning Pavoliana like this isn't gonna bring any of our fallen boys and girls back. Burning a PRISONER of war won't either!"
Vesper's words are drowned out by boos.
"But it sure as hell is gonna make the ones still living, the ones you're forcing to burn bodies, feel a bit better," Axel argues.
"So you would burn a child like a witch?!" Vesper argues.
"This ain't no child, gramps. The blue bastards took her innocence long ago." He walks up to Vesper and lashes. "This fucking kid killed a lot of Elysians. She probably orchestrated a lot of this too! And she won't spill a DAMN WORD about it!"
Axel kicks Anya's chair, but Vesper shoves him away.
"I'm not letting you burn her," Vesper warns. "That and the rest of the Pavoliana!"
Axel runs his hand down his face and growls.
"What do you want to do, gramps? Put this shit in a museum? Hold a fucking lecture about the 'cultural significance' of it in Metro Elysium University, huh!?"
"That's not what I'm saying!" Vesper shouts over the boos.
"Then what the fuck are you trying to say, then!?" Axel demands.
"You're burning statues of Towa!" Vesper argues. "That's going too far! An illiterate street urchin like you who's never read a book wouldn't understand that!"
This time, the Xenokunians cheer for Vesper. Their voices clash with the rowdy, albeit more numerous Elysian jeers.
Axel's face goes beet red. A shadow forms over his eyes.
Then, without warning, he punches Vesper on the face.
BAM!
"Ow!" Vesper hisses, stumbling backwards, "What are you...?!"
Before Vesper could say anything else, Axel pounces on Vesper and punches him down into the snow. Vesper struggles and shields himself.
"Rich fuckers like you don't know what it's like on the streets! Culture and forgiveness don't give you SHIT!" Axel wails, walloping Vesper's wrists. "You Southies always tell us Northerners what to do like you fucking know everything!"
Vesper's guard breaks. His bruised arms part, leaving his battered face undefended. Axel pulls back his fist, but a strong, leather-gloved hand catches him by the wrist.
"What's the big idea?!" Axel gasps.
He turns around and sees Shinri Josuiji grabbing his wrist. Shinri's grip tightens with every breath Axel takes. The pain makes him wince.
"Private First Class Axel Syrios," Shinri speaks with a low voice colder and sharper than the biting mountain breeze, "Cease your sacrilege against Mother Towa. THIS. INSTANT."
"Who's fee-fi-fo-fum over here?!" Axel tries to lash back, but the grip tightens even more! Pain bubbles from between Axel's clenched teeth.
"Do you wish for me to deliver you to the Sacred Gemstone's judgment?" Shinri asks, "Would you call out Mother Kanata's name? Will she show you mercy for desecrating her beloved sister?" He whispers coldly, "Because I will not. I do not condone this."
Suddenly, whistles start blaring from a distance. Altare and Ollie, accompanied by Military Police, rush to the scene.
"EVERYONE, BREAK IT UP!" Ollie's cries echo over the clashing crowd, "STAND DOWN IF YOU DON'T WANT TO END UP IN THE DAMN BRIG!"
The warring Elysians and Xenokunians back away from the center of the garden. The Military Police unbind Anya from her chair but keep her cuffed as they take her away. That leaves Shinri, Axel, and Vesper by the raging fire. Ollie and Altare reach them.
"Mr. Josuiji," Ollie chides firmly, "please let go of my soldier."
Shinri glances at Ollie but he doesn't let go.
"For the sake of Kanata, Towa, and the Sacred Gemstone," the bruised Vesper barks from the bottom of the dogpile, "PFC Syrios was young and foolish. Please let him go, sir."
"...As you wish." Shinri finally obliges.
He lets go of Axel's wrist. Axel then rolls off of Vesper and sprawls out on the snow, tending to his aching wrist. Shinri casts his shadow over Axel and curses, "May the fires that judge you in The Beyond burn more fiercely than the fires of your atrocities, and the atrocities that you have harbored in your mind today, Axel Syrios."
With that, Shinri walks away toward the Xenokunian quarters.
Vesper adjusts his glasses and picks himself up from the ground, but Altare offers his hand.
Vesper takes it. He lets Altare help him up.
"What happened here, Ves?" Altare asks.
"See for yourself, Leader," Vesper points to the fire. "An absolute tragedy."
The painting of Empress Reine Pavolia blackens in the pitch full of burning Pavoliana. Her sharp, disdainful eyes remain fixed on Altare until the fire consumes them too. When the painting crumbles, it reveals what else Axel and the Elysian zealots had been burning: dozens upon dozens of bronze statues of the Holy Mother Towa. They twist and deform in the flame that claims them.
"Those are anointed statues, Leader – sacred icons of immense cultural and religious significance. Not just for Pavolia," Vesper explains. "Our allies, the Xenokunians, are devout followers of the original Tri-Spirit Church. They worship Mother Kanata, Mother Towa, and the Sacred Gemstone: the Mirror of the Nephilim, equally."
His eyes sharpen, illuminated by the flame. "A sacrilege on one is a sacrilege on all. The Xenokunians only tolerated Elysian rule before the war. They side with us now because they see us as the lesser evil… but if we savagely antagonize them like this..."
"Then we're no different from the Pavolians," Altare deduces.
At once, he furrows his brow and turns to his other soldier writhing in the snow.
"AXEL."
Axel grits his teeth and looks up to him. Altare takes off his scarf and brings out his letter from Kobo.
"This scarf and this letter are from my sister, a Pavolian refugee, back home." Altare speaks furiously. "Are these Pavoliana too? Would you take these right now and burn them?"
"Leader, that's..." Axel hesitates.
"Would you burn my sister too?" Altare adds coldly.
"Hey, I..."
"ANSWER ME, AXEL." Altare raises his voice.
Axel shrivels up and turns away from Altare's piercing gaze. His voice is small, not more than a wet squeak. "I wouldn't dare."
"Then stop this madness this instant." Altare commands, "Put out the fire and salvage the fuel. We have bodies to burn. Dead ones. Elysian and Pavolian."
Axel clicks his tongue and picks himself up from the snow. He picks up a shovel that he had been using to throw Pavoliana. Then, he starts to pile snow onto the pitch.
Altare grips his scarf and his letter. Ollie saunters over to his side and shakes her head.
"Seems like we're not as united as I once thought," Ollie furrows her brow. "Do you figure Zeta Vestia knows about this too?"
...Altare doesn't answer. He knows she does, and that alone makes his blood run cold.
. . .
A rifle shot away from the skirmish, on the balcony of the Manor House, a motion picture camera lens points to the dying flame. Flayon X Machina stands behind the camera while Gavis Bettel holds a wired ECN microphone.
The fancifully-dressed news anchor holds the microphone with trembling hands. But then, Flayon gives him a thumbs up.
Bettel takes a deep breath, stills his heart and brings his mouth to the microphone.
"T-This is Bettel Gavis of ECN - Elysium Commonwealth News - reporting to you from the front lines." He starts off shakily but hits his stride. "Here are the top stories from the battlefield for this month of November..."
. . .
Far away from the commotion in the Manor House, in the dingy devastated stands of the Xenokuni City Baseball Stadium, a small pile of wires is splayed messily. A shortwave radio crackles with meager life, the ECN broadcast sputtering through.
Soldiers in blue rush towards the shortwave radio, scouring through the stands and brandishing bolt-action carbines. They find the radio set, its crudely-crafted input device still plugged in. A piece of paper burns next to it, whatever message it had already licked by flame as they had arrived.
The Pavolians fan out after dismantling the set, barking orders that echo in the hollow stadium stands. They, and the stomping of jackboots that accompany them, grow softer and ultimately disappear behind piles of rubble.
From beneath a dusty tarp under a damaged bleacher, a lone figure stirs. It emerges, passing briefly through a ray of light from the setting sun. The outline of a gaunt face framed by frazzled gilded locks appears for a moment. A sole blue eye pierces through the shade for a moment, regarding the scene before it.
. . .
. . .
. . .
TEMPEST
...