The skies over Sector 17 burned red, reflecting the inferno that raged below. The battlefield was a wasteland of shattered metal, crumbling buildings, and blood-soaked earth. Smoke curled into the air like dying spirits, carrying the stench of war.
At the heart of the devastation, General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger stood unshaken. His black combat vest was streaked with ash, his red beret still perched perfectly on his head. He reloaded his custom pistol with the methodical precision of a predator preparing for the next kill.
"Sir," came the gruff voice of Sergeant Darius "Hellhound" Rook over his earpiece. "The resistance forces have fortified themselves in the west block. Morales led them there. Should I send the hounds?"
Kruger smirked, his fingers tightening around the grip of his firearm.
"Negative," he said coldly. "This one, I handle personally."