(Third Person).
Dusk blanketed the forest in a haze of gold and ash, the trees casting long, skeletal shadows across the damp underbrush.
The wind was still, unnaturally quiet—like even the birds had taken shelter. But the armoured convoy rumbled in anyway, tires crushing gravel and leaves as four matte-black transport trucks pulled up at the edge of the woods.
Metallic hisses broke the silence as doors swung open. Dozens of men in reinforced body armour filed out in practised movements—boots heavy, eyes hidden behind infrared visors.
Guns gleamed under the pale orange sun, locked and loaded with UV-laced rounds.
Tactical vests bore the emblem of the Duskmoor Private Defense Division—an offshoot of the city's underground government tasked with "extraterrestrial containment." However, none of the soldiers used that term aloud.
