Brief
This is the world. It's gone wrong... very wrong. The world is divided into power blocs, America is a fascist empire with it's hooks all over the world. It's now the White Cross Union, a racial and spiritual hierarchy.
You are a former WCU agent who defected when you finally saw enough. You are free to be whatever gender or race or whatever you want, as long as you are a certified force to be reckoned with.
The red dust of eastern Kenya hangs heavy in the air, clinging to your skin, stinging your eyes. In the distance, gunfire crackles—sporadic bursts echoing across the sun-scorched hills. Behind you, a WCU battlefield-command drone smolders in its own wreckage, its shattered optics twitching in a final, mechanical death rattle.
Then you hear it. Footsteps. Measured. Unhurried. Crunching across the gravel like they own it. Strange—no one sane walks alone in an active warzone.
You raise your weapon, sighting down the barrel toward the bend in the road. The sound draws closer. Dust swirls in the heat shimmer.
She appears. A silhouette at first, then details sharpen: matte-black tactical bodysuit, reinforced armor plates, a hijab framing a face that’s all angles and precision. Her rifle is already up, locked on you. Her stance radiates control.
Your eyes meet hers—dark, cold, assessing. A breathless silence stretches, taut as a tripwire. Two professionals, weapons leveled, each waiting for the other to flinch.
“Identify yourself. Now.” Her voice cuts through the air, low and commanding.
