The storm came without thunder.
Just cracks.
Small, spreading cracks—inside the city, inside people.
And they were getting wider.
We uploaded the Hollow-League transmission that same night.
No edits. No effects. No spin.
Just the raw truth.
It hit every known independent channel. The darknets. The rogue feeds. Even the closed-loop system that null cells used to stay in touch.
"Phase Three begins once the Divide leader is neutralized."
People didn't need subtitles.
They understood.
By morning, the city wasn't quiet anymore.
Protests flared outside League checkpoints.
Rogue tags doubled overnight.
Hollow symbols appeared again—spray-painted across schools, clinics, even a burned-out police cruiser on the South Strip.
And for the first time, people started saying the word out loud.
Divide.
Some cursed it.
Some whispered it like a prayer.
But no one ignored it.
Back at the safehouse, the mood was sharp.
Everything cut too fast.
Echo barely spoke.
Delryn locked herself in the comm room, scanning military traffic.
Reese updated our patrol paths every six hours.
We all felt it—the shift.
The city was watching.
But not to see if we'd survive.
To see what we'd do.
"Hit first," said one of the newcomers, an energy twin named Koro.
"Make them pay," muttered Synn, a Rogue defector who joined us after losing her brother in a League raid.
But I wasn't ready to launch anything.
Not yet.
Because it wasn't just about being louder than the League.
It was about being different.
And if we struck first, what would we become?
Still, we couldn't wait forever.
Delryn emerged with a datapad in hand, dark circles under her eyes.
"They've activated strike teams," she said. "Joint units. League enforcers backed by Hollow tech."
"Together?" Echo asked.
Delryn nodded. "Same unit tags. Same frequencies."
She tossed the pad on the table.
"They're not even hiding it anymore."
We stood around the table again.
Same rusted depot.
Same cracked tiles.
Only this time, the map looked smaller. More fragile.
Like the weight of the war was pressing it flat.
"They're moving on the west district," Reese said. "Two days, maybe less. There's a medical shelter there."
"League cleared it out months ago," Echo said. "But some powered still pass through."
"Which means they'll use it to make a point," Delryn added.
"A burn," I said.
"Exactly."
Everyone looked at me.
Waiting again.
I swallowed hard.
If we moved, we'd be exposed.
If we waited, we'd be next.
But if we struck the convoy first—before they reached the district—we might send a message.
Might stop the burn.
Might lose half our people in the process.
"Decide fast," Echo said quietly. "They won't wait."
We voted.
Not just the council.
Everyone.
Every powered in the Divide stood in that hallway and raised a hand.
Yes or no.
Fight now… or not yet.
The final count was close.
Too close.
But "yes" won.
The plan came fast.
Hit the convoy between sectors. They'd be exposed during the shift from drone escort to ground teams. That's where we'd strike.
Reese set the ambush.
Delryn forged the signal jammers.
Echo built the fallback points.
I stood in the middle of it all.
Not commanding.
Just present.
And that mattered.
To them. To me.
Because for the first time, I wasn't just reacting.
I was choosing.
At dawn, we moved.
Two teams on the ground.
One in the air—courtesy of a gifted kid named Loop who could levitate people in short bursts.
I rode with Echo.
No armor.
No uniform.
Just a coat with the Divide insignia stitched on the sleeve.
The same one we'd used in the broadcast.
The same one the Hollow had tried to bury.
We waited on the ridge above Sector 8B.
The convoy rumbled in slowly.
Six trucks. Five drones.
Two powered League agents we'd flagged in the footage before.
They were armored and alert.
But they weren't ready.
Reese triggered the signal jammers.
Drones dropped like flies.
Then we moved.
Koro flashed ahead—splitting into two mirror images, drawing fire.
Echo rolled a wall of shadows across the west side, giving us cover.
I launched.
Faster than before.
Energy wrapped around my fists like armor.
I hit the lead truck, disabling its axle with a blast, sending it spinning sideways.
Synn vaulted over me, disabling the second with a pulse bomb.
It was chaos.
But controlled.
Tight.
Trained.
Then the Hollow arrived.
Not announced.
Not obvious.
Just a wave of heat from the east and a scream that sounded like metal being twisted underwater.
One of our flankers, Mace, dropped to his knees.
Screamed.
Blood poured from his ears.
Then a Hollow agent appeared—full body armor, mask cracked with red lines, hands glowing dark.
They didn't say a word.
Just raised a palm—
And Mace vanished.
Disintegrated into ash.
Time slowed.
My mind snapped.
I screamed.
Fired.
Energy slammed into the Hollow's chest, but they barely moved.
Their armor sparked.
But they stood tall.
Then Echo was there—knife in hand, light warping around her.
She drove it into the Hollow's side and twisted.
The armor cracked.
The agent hissed.
And vanished in smoke.
I ran to what was left of Mace.
Nothing.
Just dust.
Another message.
Another warning.
We retreated fast.
Convoy scattered.
Some agents dead.
One truck disabled.
But we took losses too.
Three wounded.
One gone.
Back at the safehouse, no one cheered.
No one smiled.
Even though the convoy was broken.
Even though we'd struck first.
It didn't feel like a win.
It felt like blood.
Echo sat next to me that night.
We didn't speak.
Just shared the silence.
I looked down at my hands.
They were still glowing.
Still steady.
Then I asked the question that had been growing all day.
"What if they're right?"
She blinked. "Who?"
"The Hollow. What if everything is broken? What if tearing it down is the only way?"
She looked at me hard.
Then said, "Then we make something better before they do."