RAVASNA — FORBIDDEN INDUSTRIAL ZONE, 10:29 PM
The city of Ravasna never sleeps. But tonight... part of its industrial heart suddenly went dark. Auto lights shut down. Surveillance cameras went blind. The logistics hub in Sector E5 went up in flames in just three minutes—without triggering a single alarm.
The patrol units arrived late. All that was left were blue flames, the stench of burned fuel, and signs of an escape through the upper ventilation shafts.
"Who did this?" asked the local commander, Netanyavu, arriving on-site with his special unit.
One technician replied, "No face. No signal. Just... a shadow."
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DARK CORNER — ROOFTOP OF RAVASNA, 11:06 PM
Broxtler sat on a rooftop, watching through his helmet, its visor glowing faint red. He inhaled the cold air through an oxygen mask and activated a wave recorder he had planted along the enemy's communication grid.
> "Slow response. Central defenses blind at night. Patrol rotates every 17 minutes. Backup lines are weak."
He recorded it all in his mind.
Suddenly, his earpiece crackled — a leaked signal from the enemy system.
Angela Markef:
> "Keep the nuclear zone defenses active. If it's him... don't give him a second chance."
Broxtler smirked.
"So, you know I'm here."
But you don't know where.
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SUPPLY STORAGE ROOM — 11:34 PM
Three guards checked the control panel when... the lights blacked out.
A second later—tsss... invisible gas hissed from above. One guard dropped, coughing. The second managed to hit the emergency light—but a silent round punched through his helmet.
Broxtler dropped from the ceiling shadows, stun rifle in one hand, a silent blade in the other.
The third guard tried to run. But before he could scream, a magnetic wire looped his neck from behind, yanked fast... click. Silence again.
> "This is just the beginning."
He planted a listening device in the central server. He didn't take data—he only wanted to hear how they'd react.
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MUSSOLINA'S HEADQUARTERS — UPPER ROOM, 12:03 AM
Benito Mussolina stared at the holographic screen. Reports flooded in.
> "Three logistics explosions."
"Silent sabotage."
"No civilian casualties. Only soldiers. Unknown weapons."
Benito stood, eyes narrowing.
"He's here."
Angela beside him asked, "Want me to send a hunter squad?"
Benito shook his head. "No. Let him roam. Let him think we're panicking. We'll throw out bait... and see what he bites."
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ABANDONED BUILDING — 1:17 AM
Broxtler sat alone in a dark room, his temporary base. A small light illuminated his partially masked face.
He recorded a voice log:
> "Three targets hit. Two left. But none of them are coming after me directly."
> "They know I'm here. But they don't know why."
He looked out the cracked window toward the sky.
> "Am I saving you, Shyblance... or just taking revenge for a world that tried to kill us both?"
His hand clenched.
And the night wasn't over.
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RAVASNA DEFENSE CONTROL ROOM — 1:54 AM
A soft alert crept through the control center. Not a blaring alarm. A quiet notification—an internal system flag signaling unauthorized access near the energy core.
Netanyavu scanned the data on the screen. "These aren't random attacks. He's picking strategic spots, crippling distribution and supply lines. This isn't one-night work."
Angela Markef stood behind him, hair tied tight, eyes narrowed. "And he hasn't touched the detainment zone. That means... he's holding back. Or waiting."
Netanyavu turned. "Or playing."
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UNDERGROUND DARK ZONE — 2:17 AM
Broxtler moved through a narrow, long-abandoned nuclear evac route. He stepped slowly, blending into the damp concrete shadows.
Two mini-cams on his helmet glowed faint red. Ahead, two soldiers guarded a security panel.
Silently, Broxtler placed a sound distortion device on the wall. A second later—footsteps echoed from the tunnel's far end. The guards turned, alert.
As they moved toward the false source, Broxtler emerged from the dark. His left hand fired a freeze shot into one, while a magnetic blade pierced the other's throat from behind.
> "You were guarding the wrong door."
He cracked open the panel and slid in a bypass device, syncing with Mussolina's comm grid. He didn't download anything—just intercepted everything.
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SECRET HOLDING CELL — 2:46 AM
Shyblance sat against a metal wall. Her hair was slightly messy, but her eyes burned with unyielding fire. She wore dark prisoner clothes with no insignia.
Angela Markef entered slowly.
"You know," she said, turning on a small lamp, "if you'd just talk... maybe we could negotiate."
Shyblance stared coldly. "If you needed me to surrender, you got the wrong person."
Angela stepped closer, locking eyes with her. "Benito doesn't like old games. He likes efficiency. But me... I'm curious. What keeps someone like you so defiant?"
Shyblance answered without hesitation, "Because what I fight for isn't just people. It's choice. And I never chose to be a slave."
Angela was silent. Something flickered in her gaze—admiration... or envy.
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THIRD-LEVEL INTEL ROOM — 3:12 AM
Broxtler reviewed Mussolina's network feed. Location data. Logistics. Distribution paths. But no record of Shyblance's cell. As if... she was hidden outside the main system.
> "She's in an unlisted zone. A special location. Probably... a trap."
His hands moved fast, redrawing old Ravasna maps.
He spotted a pattern: the backup command center lay beneath the main tower.
Broxtler stood. "I'm coming, Shyblance. But this time, I won't knock."
And from the cold night sky... the shadow moved again.
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