Scene: Entry Point Sigma – Perimeter Sweep
POV: General Soren Vask
I've fought in ten wars. Led legions. Put down revolts with my bare hands.
But I've never seen fire burn in a woman's eyes like I did in Amara Blackwood's just now.
Chris was alive—barely. He'd opened his eyes, gritted out a defiant word or two, and fell back into a fragile rhythm of breathing that every medic on site was now trying to stabilize.
Amara didn't cry.
She didn't fall apart.
She stood.
And became war.
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> "Soren," she said sharply.
I straightened.
> "Yes, Your Majesty?"
> "I want them found. Now. Whoever pulled that trigger. I want their name, their face, their entire bloodline. I want their head in my hand before sundown."
> "Yes, ma'am."
She stepped toward me, her boots cutting into the snow like knives.
> "Dead or alive?"
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
> "Dead," she hissed. "But make sure they know it's coming. Let them run. Let them cry. Let them beg."
> "Understood."
> "And Soren…" She looked down at Chris, who was now being lifted onto a hover-gurney by two trembling medics.
> "Make them suffer for every drop of his blood that hit the snow."
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I turned without another word. She didn't need more from me.
I tapped into my shoulder comm.
> "Alpha Command to B.A.M. wide-net. Operative Hawk-Lead. Fan grid pattern east, elevation three sectors. Infrared, thermal, kinetic signatures. If it moves—track it. If it runs—burn it. If it shoots—erase it."
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Then I whispered one last order into the comm:
> "I want the sniper's body delivered in silence, wrapped in their own rifle. No mercy."
---
Chris Blackwood had bled once.
Once was enough.
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