A burst of gunfire cracked somewhere to their left, followed by shouting. Not organized commands—panic. Fear bleeding into aggression.
Susan grimaced. "Humans don't do well when the rules disappear."
"They invent new ones," Hunter said. "Usually worse."
Cain stopped abruptly. Ahead, the street dipped into a plaza that had become a battlefield in miniature. Two groups faced off across a makeshift barricade of overturned transport carts and shattered kiosks. Both were armed. Both wore civilian gear hastily reinforced with scavenged plating. No uniforms. No insignia. Just symbols painted on armor and skin—marks of affiliation forming in real time.
Steve swore under his breath. "It's already happening."
Cain watched as one side fired a warning volley. The other answered with something heavier. The exchange escalated instantly, fear feeding itself.
He stepped forward before anyone could stop him.
"Cain," Susan hissed. "This isn't our fight."
"It is now," he said.
