The heavy tires of the armored truck crushed debris as Ethan drove through the ruins. The "flower" of his city had been scorched. He didn't speak. Beside him, Jason checked the action on his rifle, his face a mask of cold professionalism. The silence between them was fueled by a shared, burning rage.
"Crul, give me the map," Ethan said.
[Displaying now, Master. The port sector is the last stronghold. Forty survivors from Black Skull are holding a warehouse near Dock 7. They have civilian hostages—workers who were trapped when the shift changed,] Crul said.
"Hostages. They really don't know who they're dealing with," Ethan said.
I have pushed the accelerator. The truck roared, swerving around a collapsed bus. As they approached the docks, the smell of salt mixed with the stench of burning chemicals. A barricade of shipping containers blocked the main road.
"Jason, take the high ground. Clear the snipers. I'm going through the front," Ethan said.
