Kai descended the jagged path that spiraled down from the silo, the wind carrying the relentless sting of sand against his exposed skin. Each step felt heavier as the storm pressed against him, trying to slow his progress. He adjusted his pack, checking that everything was secure, and kept moving. The hum of the drone floated behind him, faint against the howling storm but always present—a subtle reminder of its ever-watchful gaze.
At the base of the hill, an old gas station came into view. Its structure leaned precariously, one corner collapsed inward like a mouth yawning to devour the ground beneath it. The faded paint peeled away in strips, and shattered glass glittered on the cracked pavement. Kai approached cautiously, his gaze sweeping over the remnants of this once-functional place. It was silent—too silent. Not even the wind dared to stir the emptiness inside.
A wooden plank jutted from the ground near the edge of the station, weathered and splintered by time. On it was a familiar symbol, etched deeply into the surface. Kai crouched down to examine it, his fingers brushing against the rough carving. No words, no directions—just the mark. It was enough. He straightened, his eyes narrowing as he traced the implied path forward.
The road beyond was what remained of a freeway, though its name or purpose had long since been swallowed by the Divide. Cracked asphalt stretched out before him, uneven and broken, with massive gaps where the ground had simply collapsed. Some sections were choked with debris—overturned trucks, crumpled guardrails, and fragments of concrete. Kai stepped carefully, his boots crunching softly on the grit.
Ruined houses lined the sides of the freeway like forgotten sentinels. Their walls were scorched, their roofs caved in, and their contents spilled across the dirt. A child's toy, faded and broken, rested half-buried in the sand near an overturned couch. Further down, a car had plowed straight into a living room, its rusted frame now part of the skeletal remains of the structure. The remnants of lives lived and lost were everywhere, scattered like ashes on the wind.
Kai's movements were methodical as he navigated the chaos. He stopped occasionally to adjust his gear, his hands inspecting straps and compartments with mechanical precision. His gaze darted between the shadows of the houses, the gaps in the wreckage, and the occasional flicker of movement in the distance. If anything was alive out here, it wasn't eager to show itself—yet.
The freeway stretched on, twisting and turning like a serpent. Kai climbed over the wreckage of a semi-truck, its trailer split open to reveal rusted metal crates. The markings on them had long since faded, their contents pilfered or ruined by time. He paused at the top, scanning the horizon—or what little of it he could see through the swirling sands. The storm blurred the edges of everything, turning the world into a shadowy limbo.
Another wooden plank caught his eye, its symbol pointing further down the road. He dropped from the truck and landed with a soft thud, his boots kicking up a cloud of dust. The path ahead led to a collapsed section of the freeway, where chunks of asphalt and concrete had formed a makeshift bridge over a steep ravine. Without hesitation, Kai moved forward, his body tense but fluid, ready for whatever lay ahead.
The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional groan of shifting debris or the faint rustle of wind through the ruins. Kai didn't let his guard down. The Divide had a way of lulling its victims into complacency before striking. He knew better. Every step was deliberate, every glance purposeful.
As he crossed the debris bridge, he caught a glimpse of movement below—something in the shadows, too far to identify but enough to set his instincts on edge. He didn't stop to investigate. Instead, he quickened his pace, the drone's hum following behind like a phantom.
Kai came across a locked gate, its metal frame rusted and pockmarked by time and storms. The chain securing it was thick, but not enough to stop him. With a sharp breath, he activated his strength quirk. The chain groaned under his grip, snapping apart with a final metallic crack. He stepped back, letting the broken links fall to the ground with a muted clatter. Gripping the gate, he pushed it open. The hinges resisted, screeching loudly as they swung outward, the sound carrying into the wasteland.
Beyond the gate was chaos frozen in time. Cars were stacked in a sprawling pile-up, their frames warped and twisted, windshields shattered. Inside, skeletons rested in eerie stillness—some slumped over steering wheels, others crumpled on the floors, as if they'd died trying to escape. The air here felt heavier, thick with the weight of forgotten desperation. Kai's eyes scanned the scene, unflinching.
Among the debris, something caught his attention. On a slab of crumbled concrete, Alexander's mark was painted in dark blue. The symbol seemed to glow faintly against the gray backdrop, its edges sharp and deliberate. He approached it slowly, the hum of the drone at his side the only sound besides the wind.
'What does dark blue mean?' The thought hung in his mind, unsettling. Alexander's marks weren't random. Every color, every placement—there was a reason behind them.
Near the mark, a cluster of crates sat partially buried in sand and rubble. Their wooden exteriors were weathered, the corners frayed by years of exposure, but they remained intact. Kai knelt by the first crate, running his hand along the edge before prying it open. The contents were surprisingly pristine: stacks of MREs, neatly sealed water bottles, and a basic medical kit. He shifted through the supplies, noting the meticulous packing.
'Someone prepared this. Someone wanted it found.'
The second crate yielded more of the same—rations, antiseptics, bandages. But the third crate was different. As he lifted the lid, his gaze fell on an old tape player. Its surface was scratched, but it looked functional. Next to it, a cassette tape was wedged into the corner, its label still legible despite years of wear. It read: "Log Y-17-15."
Kai picked up the tape, turning it over in his hands. There was a weight to it, both physical and metaphorical, as if it carried echoes of something long buried. He glanced back at the dark blue mark on the rubble.
Kai pressed play, and the tape crackled to life. The voice that came through was unmistakable—Alexander's measured, deliberate tone. Even on a recording, it carried the weight of purpose, like every word had been chosen carefully, carved into stone before being spoken.
"...Back again. Left that crater behind. Got a few cassettes left, ones from the medical center. The woman... she fixed the recorder. Said it wouldn't last—repayment for me fixing her. She doesn't like debts; I can respect that."
There was a pause, a faint scrape of something in the background. Alexander's sigh came through, low and filled with something just shy of regret.
"Payment enough for someone who believes in the reform of Iran. Not Ayatollah. Different view. Same madness."
Kai tilted his head slightly. The words weren't for him, not directly, but they felt pointed, as if Alexander had always intended for someone to hear this. Maybe not him specifically, but someone who could understand the threads being woven.
"She answered me on their philosophy, their way of seeing the roads they walk. Dead ends. Empty... as if technology can solve anything."
Kai's gaze flickered to the cassette player. The edge in Alexander's voice cut through the static—a man whose experiences had made him certain of one thing: the futility of blind belief.
"The crater's proof of where that road leads. Just like the Divide, and all the roads that lead to it."
The recording clicked off, leaving only the sound of the wind howling through the Divide. Kai stared at the tape player in his hand. The words lingered, heavy and sharp, like they were meant to be carried.
Alexander wasn't just recording his thoughts—he was leaving breadcrumbs. Lessons. Warnings. This wasn't random; it was deliberate. The Divide was his stage, and these recordings were part of the script.
Kai placed the cassette back in its case, his expression unreadable. He scanned the horizon, taking in the craters and the wreckage with a sharper focus. Every piece of this place, every mark, felt tied to Alexander's story. The Divide wasn't just a graveyard—it was a statement.
Kai pocketed the tape and checked his gear. Alexander wanted him to walk these roads and piece together this history.
Kai knew the history of Iran, of the Middle East, better than most. After World War II, when the British, the French, and their allies pulled out, they left behind a fractured region. Lines drawn in haste carved countless nations from the sands, each carrying its own identity, its own vision. The Middle East became a patchwork of ideologies, some ancient, some radically new.
Kai's steps slowed as his thoughts traced those divisions. Technology-worshipping nations, the ones Alexander derided, stood as stark examples of how far extremes could go. Others clung to democracy in forms imported and twisted by outside hands, their stars and stripes just faint echoes of the real thing.
Then there was the crater.
It wasn't just a scar on the earth—it was a monument to destruction. A city once stood there, a sovereign nation forged from ambition and held together by sheer will. But ambition made enemies, and enemies brought war. The crater had been born in fire—bombs, planes, artillery raining down until the city was reduced to ash and rubble.
Hundreds of thousands dead. Lives turned to smoke.
But history hadn't let the crater remain empty. The city was rebuilt in that same hollow, its people stubborn enough to rise again. They lived in the shadow of their own destruction, in a place where history screamed every time someone walked out of it.
The irony wasn't lost on Kai. Rebuilding in the very pit that had swallowed them wasn't just resilience—it was defiance. A refusal to be erased, even as the crater itself stood as a constant reminder of how fragile their survival was.
The Divide felt the same. A place shaped by destruction, but never abandoned.
Kai's gaze lingered on a section of rubble, a distant cluster of buildings half-swallowed by sand and shadow. The wind howled through the Divide, carrying whispers of what had been, and what might still be.
For a moment, he thought of Alexander's words, how they painted the Divide not just as a battlefield, but as a lesson. The crater and the Divide—they were mirrors of each other, reflections of a world that refused to die quietly.
Kai adjusted his pack and pressed forward, his boots crunching over loose gravel. The Divide wasn't just testing him—it was showing him. Every step brought him closer to understanding, closer to the truth Alexander had carved into this land.
Kai noticed something jutting out of the sand not far from the wreckage lining the road. The harsh winds had partially uncovered it, but enough remained buried to keep its identity unclear. As he moved closer, his eyes caught the telltale glint of metal disks. Mines.
The path to what looked like an old outpost was scattered with them, an intentional deathtrap for anyone daring to approach. Kai crouched, picking up a piece of rubble from the roadside—a fractured chunk of concrete no larger than his hand. He weighed it for a moment before hurling it forward.
The explosion was instant, a sharp blast that sent sand and smoke spiraling into the air. The sound echoed briefly before the winds of the Divide swallowed it whole.
Kai didn't flinch. He simply picked up another piece of debris and repeated the process, each throw detonating another mine. The ground ahead became pockmarked with fresh craters, the path clearing little by little. Patience and precision. Tools he'd used countless times.
When he finally reached the outpost, the sight was almost anticlimactic. Sandbags formed a defensive circle, weathered and torn, some spilling their contents into the desert wind. Supply crates, mostly munitions, were scattered haphazardly within the makeshift fortification. Ammo rounds lay spilled across the ground like forgotten coins.
At the center of it all, a skeleton leaned heavily against a crate, its posture eerily relaxed, as if it had sat down for a rest and simply never stood up again. In its hand, still clenched tight even in death, was a bowie knife.
Kai stepped carefully into the circle, his boots crunching softly on loose sand. The skeleton's weapon caught his eye—a pristine blade, its edge still gleaming despite the years. He crouched down and examined it, noting the craftsmanship. A blade like this wasn't standard issue; it was personal.
Around the skeleton's neck, a faded dog tag dangled. Kai wiped the grime away to read it, the engraving almost worn smooth. The name was illegible.
Kai retraced his steps back to the main road, his gaze scanning the eerie remains of the neighborhood. The wind carried the faint whistle of shifting sand, a constant reminder of the Divide's hostility. He passed by rows of decaying houses, their walls cracked and roofs caved in, their silence heavier than the weight of the dust-laden air.
As he moved, his eyes locked onto a car jutting out from the remains of a house, its hood crumpled against the broken wall. The vehicle was lodged at an angle, creating a natural ramp. Kai approached, testing its stability with his foot before climbing onto the roof of the house. From this elevated vantage point, he scanned the desolate expanse.
To his left, another warhead stood ominously upright, partially buried in the ground. Its surface was scarred and weathered, yet its silhouette was unmistakable—a relic of destruction.
'These must be all over…scattered,' Kai thought, his gaze lingering on the warhead for a moment before sweeping the area again.
He saw no movement, no sign of the so-called "inhabitants" Alexander had warned about. Still, the silence felt more like a prelude than a reprieve. Trusting his instincts, Kai dropped down from the roof, landing with a muted thud. He adjusted his pace, each step calculated and purposeful as he continued down the road.
The next stretch led him past more ruined houses, their facades riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks. Evidence of battles fought long ago, the kind that left scars but no victors. The landscape shifted slightly as another gas station came into view ahead. Its rusted sign dangled precariously in the wind, creaking with each gust.
Kai paused outside the station, his senses on high alert. He scanned the windows and surrounding area but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then, a sharp crack split the air, followed by the faint whine of a bullet tearing through the wind.
Instinct took over. Kai ducked low, the bullet zipping just inches above his head. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the station, keeping his profile as low as possible.
Glass shattered behind him as another round struck, sending shards scattering across the ground. Kai reached the station's entrance, throwing himself inside and pressing his back against the wall.
The interior was dim, sunlight filtering through broken windows and casting fractured beams across the dusty floor. Shelves were overturned, their contents long scavenged or decayed. Kai crouched low, his breathing steady as his eyes darted around, assessing his surroundings.
Another shot rang out, this time striking the wall outside with a dull thud. Whoever was shooting wasn't in a rush—they were calculating, patient. Kai recognized the rhythm, the deliberate spacing between shots. This wasn't some wild attack; it was methodical.
Kai moved deeper into the gas station, avoiding the jagged shards of glass scattered across the floor and steering clear of the windows. The dim light filtering through broken panes played tricks on his eyes, but his focus never wavered. His gaze fell on a shard of mirror propped against an overturned shelf. Picking it up, he positioned it carefully to angle a view of the road outside.
In the reflection, he caught sight of two figures crouched behind cover—a crumbling wall just beyond the gas station's lot. The wind picked up, kicking up a shield of sand that obscured them momentarily. It was a stroke of luck. The Divide's storms were as much an enemy to them as they were to him.
Kai's grip tightened on his weapon as he considered his options. The cover and chaos the storm provided were fleeting; if he waited too long, he'd lose his advantage. He slipped out of the station's back door, moving low and silent like a shadow cutting through the swirling sands.
The wind howled around him, its shrieking masking the faint crunch of his boots on gravel. He could hear the shooters shifting their positions, their movements muffled by the storm. Trusting his quirk and instincts, Kai raised his rifle, aiming in the direction of their footsteps. His finger pressed the trigger in calculated bursts, the gunfire merging with the storm's fury.
The sharp retort of his shots punctured the cacophony, and he advanced carefully, keeping low. As he neared the crumbling wall where they had been hiding, he found two bodies sprawled out on the ground, their weapons lying useless beside them. Both wore weathered military gear, their uniforms patched and tattered from years of wear. One bore the Iranian flag stitched onto his sleeve, the other the Iraqi flag.
Kai studied their faces, hollow and sunken, as if the Divide itself had drained the life out of them long before he arrived. The sand clung to their skin, and their eyes were still open, staring blankly into the storm that had swallowed them.
Their gear was old but serviceable—rifles that had seen better days, a few rounds of ammunition, and knives that had been honed to a near-obsessive sharpness. He knelt beside one of them, examining the Iranian soldier's uniform more closely. The patches told a story of rank and unit, though most were too worn to decipher clearly.
"Guns still work…guess thats something."
Kai moved quietly through the sand-choked streets, his boots barely making a sound. The wind howled around him, the gusts carrying sand that swirled like a cloud of dust. The buildings, half-buried in shifting dunes, looked more like the remnants of a forgotten world than anything still standing. The skeletal structures loomed above him, a grim testament to whatever chaos had passed through here.
From the shadows of one crumbling structure, he spotted them—two figures moving cautiously on the rooftop of a nearby building. The men didn't notice him yet. They were too busy scanning the horizon, their rifles ready but their focus elsewhere.
Kai shifted silently, angling around the building until he was behind cover, his movements deliberate and precise. His eyes flicked up to the roof as he reached for the sniper rifle on his back, pulling it smoothly into position. He crouched low, making himself as small as possible in the dim light.
Through the scope, the two men came into sharp focus. They were talking, or at least, it seemed like they were trying to communicate over the wind. Their voices were muffled, lost to the sounds of the storm.
Kai's finger hovered over the trigger. The rifle was steady, his aim exact.
He squeezed the trigger. The first man collapsed with a single, clean shot. His body jerked as he crumpled to the ground, the crack of the rifle reverberating in the silence.
The second man barely had time to react. By the time he turned toward the sound, the second shot rang out. His body followed suit, dropping like a ragdoll over the edge of the building.
For a moment, there was nothing but the wind, the sand, and the faint echo of the shots.
Then, panic erupted. Flares shot into the sky, their weak light an attempt to signal, to warn of the unseen danger. But Kai wasn't worried. He had all the time in the world.
The men below scrambled, looking for cover, shouting incoherently at each other. They didn't know where the shots were coming from, and they didn't have the time to figure it out.
Kai's gaze flicked from one figure to the next. His rifle was steady, the crosshairs perfectly aligned on the next target. Another shot. Another body hit the sand, lifeless before it even hit the ground.
They kept firing flares, but it was pointless. The wind was too strong, the darkness too deep.
One by one, the men fell, until there were only lifeless forms sprawled across the rooftops. The flares had ceased, the faint glow fading into the night.
Kai stood, lowering the rifle, eyes scanning the chaos below. The street was silent once again, save for the distant howl of the storm. His hands felt no weight as he holstered the rifle.
Kai stood outside the Marvarian Military Headquarters, his eyes scanning the building. The place was an eyesore, like a forgotten monument to something that had long since passed—its façade weathered by time and neglect, as if it had stood too long in this harsh, unforgiving land. The wind whipped around the structure, carrying dust and debris that seemed to settle into every crack and crevice.
His gaze shifted down to the ground, where the remnants of a vending machine lay toppled on its side, its contents long since looted. Beneath it, scattered among the rusted metal and shattered glass, were bones—somewhere between a human's and something less recognizable. A skull, cracked open, and an arm, half-buried beneath the wreckage. The death was messy, too quick to be anything other than random. A few sad remains in a place that had seen far too many of them.
"Sad way to die..." Kai muttered to himself, a trace of dry detachment in his voice. The wind seemed to agree, the storm swirling as if to wipe the evidence of another life away.
The drone, keeping pace behind him, emitted a small beep, almost like an acknowledgment of Kai's remark.
"Yeah, well. Not much left of them to care, is there?" Kai mused as he stepped past the wreckage and toward the entrance.
He reached for the door, but something stopped him. That dark blue mark. It was painted onto the door, a smudge of color that stood out against the grime and decay. The same mark he had seen on the rubble, the same mark from the crates. Alexander had been here. He could feel it in his bones. There was something familiar about it, something purposeful. Alexander's presence lingered in places like this, where history had been left to rot, waiting for someone to pick up the pieces.
Kai ran a hand along the doorframe, feeling the texture of the paint beneath his fingers. He considered the mark for a moment, his mind running through calculations and thoughts, weighing the importance of what it meant.
"Guess this is the place," Kai said quietly, his voice barely rising above the hum of the wind. "Let's see what Alexander left behind this time."
The drone beeped and Kai gave it a sideways glance.