(Third Person).
Inside the first armoured vehicle, the commandant sat rigid in his seat, jaw clenched. The headset crackled with static, but he ignored it.
Instead, he reached for the mounted landline system and picked up the phone, pressing a glowing red button.
The line rang twice.
Then came a smooth voice. "Mayor Brackham's office, this is Secretary Vale—"
"This is Commandant Rowe," the scarred soldier barked. "I need the Mayor. Now. Priority alert. Code silver."
There was a pause, then a shuffle on the other end. "Hold."
Seconds passed.
Then: "This is Brackham."
Rowe took a breath. "Sir, we lost Echo team."
"What?" Brackham's voice sharpened like a blade.
"All seven. Brutally killed. There's blood everywhere. Limbs. Viscera. It slaughtered them all. They didn't stand a chance. One survived long enough to beg for death—his arms and legs were cut off."
Silence.
A dangerous silence.
Rowe pushed on, voice colder now. "One of our men fired the kill shot."
