Things have changed?

Nancy and her mother were frozen in the hallway, staring at the TV screen as the news unfolded in real-time. Their breathing stopped with every live report of the reporters at the site of the wayward attack. Fear constricted in their chests, their hearts racing as they witnessed the city disintegrate.

The helicopters carrying the news flew over the destruction, taking an extensive shot of the Ruling Party district. The images showed the smoldered remains of a crashed chopper, a catastrophe that came close to bringing down an entire glass building. What had once been a beacon of the city's prosperity and a popular tourist destination now stood in ruins—a ghostly reminder of a history in progress.

Nancy and her mother could see dim plumes of smoke in the distance from their house, a somber attestation that the devastation was not merely something happening on a screen but in the very center of their city. They were filled with terror, not just for the myriad citizens who were still stuck in the devastation but for Tyson. Was he out there? Was he okay? The doubt tortured them, and with every increasing second, the burden of despair grew heavier.

Nancy redialed Tyson's contact number, still no answer came. Her shaking hands attempted a second time with a firmer grip on the phone.

Her mother intervened, taking her by the hand firmly and holding her steady as she nearly collapsed to her knees.

"He's there… maybe injured," Nancy whispered, her voice trembling. "He was supposed to keep Sera safe."

"Honey," her mother said gently, squeezing her shoulders. "He'll be fine... He's strong."

"Please, Tyson, be safe," she mumbled again as she watched the news.

The news reporter yelled into the camera to capture a clear view of what now resembled a battlefield amid the debris. Smoke and dust filled the air as terrified citizens ran in every direction. Officials hurried to assist the wounded and evacuate those still trapped in the danger zone.

"The Rangers have started arriving at the scene!" the reporter shouted, his voice filled with urgency. "Now, our forces will eliminate the rogues in one swift action!"

The camera zoomed in as armored Rangers stormed the area—some assisted injured civilians while others clashed with the rogues near the building's entrance. Blasts and gunfire echoed through the streets as chaos unfolded live on screen.

Terrified families huddled inside their homes, watching the broadcast with bated breath. Some clutched their phones, attempting to reach loved ones. In the city streets, onlookers gasped and screamed as explosions rattled the ground, their faces reflecting the sheer horror of witnessing their home transform into a war zone.

From above, the news helicopter captured it all—every desperate escape, every battle, every moment of fear—broadcasting the unfolding nightmare to the entire city.

"We've just received confirmation that the President's daughter and the First Lady are safe," the reporter announced, raising his voice above the deafening noise of sirens, gunfire, and shouting officers. His fellow journalists scrambled for updates, their voices overlapping in the chaos.

He turned to an officer on duty, barking orders to keep civilians and reporters behind the safety line. However, the situation was too frantic to maintain order.

"Get moving! This is a danger zone!" the officer barked, his frustration evident.

The reporter continued, thrusting a microphone forward. "Can you share what truly happened? Just a clue, sir—people are eager to find out!"

The officer exhaled sharply, clearly hesitant to speak. "We have everything under control," he finally stated. "For now, please stay inside your homes. We're still evaluating their objective."

The reporter seized upon that response. "What do you mean? Isn't their goal to get the President?"

"Yes, but with the President safe, they'll change their tactics," the officer acknowledged. "Now, they will aim to generate chaos in other areas—and that's what we must prevent."

As he spoke, he turned to his squad, barking orders to keep everyone behind the perimeter and ensure no one entered the war zone.

---

"What happened to the no-kill policy?" Blue groaned, shifting on top of the now-flattened vehicle as he struggled to stand. "Aren't we supposed to keep things in line?"

Everyone knew the Rangers avoided killing rogues. Their mission had always been to capture and bring rebels to justice, ensuring they faced the proper punishment for their crimes in civilian courts.

Tyson scoffed, his body tense with anger as he pushed himself up. "In line? Are you freaking serious?" His eyes burned with disbelief. "You attacked the President and still think you have any right to talk about rules?"

This was unlike anything he'd seen before. The rogues had always been troublemakers—looting banks, stealing cutting-edge technology, and causing chaos—but this? This was something else. This was war.

"Hah! Just listen to yourself, Tyson," Blue huffed. "You sound like a self-righteous hero—"

His words were abruptly interrupted by a deafening roar.

They both turned just in time to see a helicopter plummeting toward the building beside them. Their eyes widened as the massive machine crashed into the structure, the impact sending a shockwave through the air. Glass and metal burst outward, raining down in lethal shards.

Instinct took over. Tyson and Blue barely managed to stumble back, narrowly dodging the collapsing wreckage as a fireball erupted into the sky.

Tyson's breath hitched, and his voice emerged in a low, nearly incredulous tone. "What have you done?"

"I did nothing!" Blue shouted, frustration clear on his face. "Stop blaming me for everything!"

"Aren't you part of this?" Tyson shot back, his anger boiling over. "Right? You all never take responsibility—for anything!"

Before Blue could reply, another explosion erupted from the wreckage, sending dust and debris flying. The force of the blast made Tyson shield his eyes, his heart racing.

Through the thick, suffocating smoke, Blue stood immobile. His hands were clenched, and his breathing was uneven.

However, it wasn't the destruction that fascinated Tyson. It was Blue's uncertain posture.

For the first time, Blue wasn't just reacting; he was genuinely observing the destruction they had caused.

"You all have gone too far," Tyson said, his voice weighed down by anger and disbelief.

Blue stayed quiet. He had no reply—because deep down, he understood Tyson was right. They had crossed the line.

But in his mind, it wasn't without reason. If their plan succeeded, if everything fell into place, then Tyson—and the world—would finally understand. They weren't doing this for chaos; they were doing it to expose the truth and make the President answer for his crimes and acknowledge them in society.

The world needed to witness the extent of his government's corruption, how he had imprisoned those who refused to comply with the Rangers, and how he had treated the rogues not as individuals but as threats.

The President had to answer for the silent screams, the suffering, and the blood that had been spilled to maintain control. For the pain endured simply because they refused to let another faction take root, and until that truth came to light, Blue couldn't afford to waver.

A figure loomed on the rooftop of a nearby building, outlined by the smoky sky. Blue raised his head.

Coco.

The leader of Rogue stood still for a moment, surveying the wreckage before him—the shattered glass, the burning ruins, the chaos that had unfolded. Then, his voice cut through the air like a battle cry.

"Rogues! Our time has come! Rise and fight for our rights!"

His command resonated across the battlefield, ringing in the ears of all present.

"Let's demonstrate who we truly are"

Movement erupted from the shadows. The civilians who had been watching from the sidelines—those who had appeared to be mere onlookers—suddenly sprang into action. Armor unfolded over their bodies seamlessly, revealing their true allegiance.

The rogues, lurking in the shadows and waiting for their leader's signal, now emerged in full force. One by one, they stepped forward—dozens at first, then nearly a hundred. Within seconds, their sheer numbers became overwhelming, instantly shifting the tide of battle. The Rangers, who had been in control moments earlier, were outnumbered and outmaneuvered.

In the distance, the news reporters fell silent. Their once-frantic commentary faded into stunned disbelief. Cameras zoomed in, capturing the impossible: the rogues dominating the battlefield, their presence overshadowing the Rangers. A hushed murmur spread among the news crews.

"Where the hell is our General?" one of them whispered—a question on everyone's mind now.

There was no response from the other side of the city. The only thing they knew for sure was that an explosion had occurred there simultaneously. However, unlike here, all communications had been cut off—jammed by an external force. It was too coordinated to be a coincidence. Someone had purposely isolated the General, ensuring chaos would reign unchecked.

Tyson clenched his fists, and his pulse thumped in his ears.

Suddenly, the lieutenant burst out of the building, his voice sharp and urgent. "Retreat! Get back inside!"

Tyson turned and noticed the Rangers signaling one another to retreat toward the building where the President and many civilians were being protected.

Then, another shift—the arrival of the leader of the rogues.

As Coco stepped forward, the entire battlefield transformed. The Rangers, already outnumbered, found themselves at an impasse, unable to escape the deadlock. The balance of power had perilously shifted in the rogues' favor.

"Sergeant!" Shaun's voice sliced through the chaos as he waved from near the building. "Get over here, now!"

Tyson's gaze shifted to Blue, who remained frozen, staring at the devastation unfolding before them. For a brief moment, neither of them said a word.

Then, Blue exhaled sharply. "I hope no one dies." His voice was quiet and unsure, carrying an emotion Tyson couldn't quite identify.

Tyson didn't have time to respond.

The battlefield was no longer merely a fight.

It had become a war zone.