ROSIE.
She didn't flinch when the flare went off.
The tower's perimeter lit up in a sudden white blast — hot, sharp, surgical — followed by the scout's shriek slicing through the rain-heavy air.
But Rosie didn't move.
She stood still in the shadows of the broken scaffolding across the street, arms folded, hoodie soaked through, hair plastered to her cheeks like black vines.
The boy rolled on the pavement, gasping, clawing at his own face. Blinded. Disarmed. Disposed of.
Brent cursed from beside her, pushing off the wall.
"We send another one in, and they'll just cook him too."
"Then we won't send another," Rosie said calmly.
Eric stared at the scout writhing in the alley.
"You said they'd break."
"They haven't yet," Rosie replied, her voice so even it sounded like it was rehearsed. "But they're close."
Brent turned on her, jaw tight.
"You think he's not going to triple every lock now?"
"He will."
"Then what the hell are we doing?"
She looked up at the tower — that shining, silent, sealed sanctuary glowing like a heartbeat beneath its solar-coated armor. Just warm enough to draw attention. Just human enough to give hope.
"We make them choke on their morality."
She stepped forward, into the half-light, watching the sensor blink red above the southeast corner.
"They didn't open the door for the kid."
"Yeah? So?"
"Which means they're trying to be good. Still telling themselves they're the heroes in this."
She turned to them, eyes clear, smile faint.
"So we give them more kids."
Brent looked sick.
Eric grinned.
The scout screamed again.
Rosie didn't blink.
"Let them die slowly," she said. "From the inside out."
--
JOSH.
The scout's scream still echoed in my ears long after the feed went dark.
I stood by the tactical board in the control room, one hand braced on the edge of the table like I could hold the building still with just my palm.
Jules entered without knocking.
No clipboard. No tablet.
Just her, jaw tight, rain still on her collar.
"They're watching how we respond," I said.
"Good. Let them know we hit back harder."
"Rosie didn't even twitch."
Jules crossed the room and dropped a new blueprint roll onto the table. It unfurled with the hiss of paper and the weight of inevitability.
"Then it's time we stop playing defence."
I looked down.
It wasn't just a floor plan.
It was a countermeasure map — trap zones, fallback nests, rerouted tunnels, weapon caches reallocated for speed over density. Everything designed not just to hold…
…but to turn this tower into a pressure cooker.
"You already started designing this," I said.
"The day she showed up on camera."
I scanned the layout.
"You rerouted the south stairwell."
"It's wired now. We let them think they breach it. Give them just enough ground to feel confident. Then we gas it. Light, nonlethal. Then noise. Then flashbang. Then manual breach from our side while they're stunned."
I stared at her.
"You've done this before?"
"I've imagined this before," she said. "Enough times that I might as well have."
I moved to the supply log, pulled up the chemical reserves and reviewed the trigger flow. She was right — it could work.
"And what if they send someone we know?" I asked, quieter now. "What if they send another kid?"
Jules didn't flinch.
"You make the call. But I won't let a kid open the gate to a massacre."
I closed my eyes.
For half a second, I thought about Jessi — still somewhere in the east wing, grieving the decision none of us could cleanly make. Still believing in a better world, even while it tried to eat her.
"I don't want to be the kind of person who plans for death."
"You're not," Jules said. "You're planning to outlive it."
I opened my eyes and nodded.
"Then let's give them something to choke on."
--
The sky cracked.
Not with thunder — but with something deeper. A low-frequency snap, like the world's spine giving way.
The storm that had hovered for days, heavy with indecision, finally committed.
And it didn't come down in rain.
It came down in sheets of hail and burning wind, twisted together in sudden, impossible violence. Shards of ice the size of fists shattered car windshields. Metal gutters screamed loose from rooftops. Power lines snapped and danced like snakes across flooded intersections.
Whatever was left of the city's structure — its grid, its order, its hope — folded in on itself like wet paper.
People ran.
Out of half-standing buildings. Out of stalled vehicles. Out of makeshift camps tucked into alleyways and stairwells.
They ran with nothing — some with blankets over their heads, others barefoot, clutching duffel bags or dragging half-conscious family members behind them.
And one by one, they turned toward the only building still standing tall and dry and powered:
The Tower.
Even darkened from the outside, it was obvious — not abandoned, not broken, not buried.
Someone had light.
Someone had power.
Someone had a plan.
--
Jules' screen blinked.
Then again.
Then again.
Josh leaned in.
Perimeter breach projections: +13 bodies in motion. Direction: inbound. Estimated arrival: 4 minutes.
"They're coming," Jules said.
"How many?" Josh asked.
"Enough to make it a siege."