The air in Phnom Penh was thick with tension. The distant hum of unrest permeated the streets, where whispers of rebellion collided with the shadow of Syndicate influence. Bintang, David, and Clarissa approached the outskirts of the city, where the true devastation lay hidden from the bustling center.
The village ahead was desolate. Abandoned rice fields stretched out like scars on the land, the once-vibrant green now a sickly brown. Crumbled homes stood as silent witnesses to chaos. A group of frightened villagers huddled in makeshift shelters, their eyes reflecting both fear and desperation.
David knelt near a withered patch of rice, scooping a handful of soil. His brow furrowed as he studied its texture and smell. “This isn’t natural,” he muttered, his voice heavy. “There are traces of chemical agents here—something engineered. It’s designed to destroy crops at their roots.”