The blackout didn't come with silence. It came with chaos. Sirens keened from every direction, echoing through the wet city like mechanical screams. Cain moved fast through the wreckage, boots splashing through the runoff as firelight bloomed in the distance. The Grid was gone—its control fractured—and the city was remembering what anarchy felt like.
He crossed through a half-flooded plaza, rain mixing with oil, the reflections of flames bending like broken glass. People were already looting, fighting, running. No sides. No orders. Just hunger and rage, given freedom for the first time in years.
Steve's voice cut through the comm, distorted but alive. "We've got movement across six sectors. The council's comms are burning up—they can't coordinate. It's working."
Cain ducked under a fallen beam. "And Roselle?"
Silence stretched for two long heartbeats before Steve answered. "I lost her signal. It's just gone."
