The city hadn't slept for days. Smoke curled above the skyline, faint but constant—like the dying breath of a beast too stubborn to collapse. The Senate walls, once symbols of power, were now patched with soot and bullet marks.
And beneath those ruins… something was moving again.
The Remnants—those who had vanished after the fall of the Syndicate—were returning.
Rain hammered down as Leon crossed the broken bridge into the lower district. His coat was heavy, soaked, the edges dragging through the muddy water. He had the look of a ghost walking through the grave of his own war.
From the shadows, a whisper:
"You came alone?"
Leon turned slightly. A scarred woman stepped out, one eye covered by an iron patch—the unmistakable emblem of the Remnants.
"Didn't think you'd still be alive, Mira."
She smirked, resting her hand on her sidearm. "You should've known better. We don't die easy."
The air between them crackled with unspoken history—betrayals, lost missions, the ghosts of their dead.
Inside a decrepit tavern nearby, a small crowd waited—mercenaries, informants, and those who once called the Syndicate family. When Leon entered, the noise died instantly.
All eyes turned.
Mira followed behind him, her boots echoing on the wooden floor.
"Let's skip the nostalgia," she said, slamming a holomap onto the table. "The Council thinks we're scattered. They're wrong. The Syndicate might be ashes—but ashes can still burn."
A low murmur spread. Someone laughed nervously.
Leon's gaze hardened. "You're planning to strike again?"
Mira's voice was low, dangerous. "No. I'm planning to finish what we started."
Suddenly, the tavern lights flickered. A drone's hum filled the air.
"Ambush!"
The windows shattered as stun rounds tore through the air. Leon ducked, rolling behind a pillar. Mira drew her twin pistols, firing back with surgical precision. Two masked soldiers fell before they could reload.
The Remnants moved like wolves—coordinated, efficient, merciless.
Leon leaped through the smoke, knife flashing, catching an enemy by the throat before driving him into the wall. Blood splattered the map.
"Who sent them?" he shouted.
Mira reloaded, expression grim. "They wear Council insignia. Guess the politicians finally stopped pretending."
When the shooting stopped, the tavern was in ruins again.
Rain dripped through the holes in the ceiling.Bodies lay sprawled across the floor, some still twitching.
Leon knelt, picking up a bloodied Council badge. "So the war never ended," he muttered.
Mira holstered her pistols. "No. It just changed shape."
She turned to the survivors—half a dozen men and women staring at her, their eyes a mix of fear and faith.
"Listen up," she said. "The world thinks the Remnants are dead. Let's use that. We move from the underground—no banners, no names. Just shadows. If they want war, we'll bring it to their doorstep."
Her words hung in the air, steady and cold.
Leon met her gaze. "Then I'm with you. But this time, no more secrets."
She gave a thin, tired smile. "No promises."
Outside, the rain eased into a steady drizzle.Lightning flashed against the city skyline—and for a brief second, the shape of the Syndicate's old symbol appeared on the wall, painted in fresh red.
The Remnants had returned.And the city would soon remember their name.