The alarm wailed through Hancock Fortress at dawn, its shrill cry slicing through the early quiet like a knife.  

Gene groaned, buried his face in the pillow for three more seconds, then reached out and slapped the alarm control panel.  

The sound died instantly. The hum of the generator took its place.  

“Status?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.  

Reina’s reply came crisp and clipped through the intercom.  

“Ten—no, twelve hostiles. All armed. Circumference perimeter, mostly east and north flanks.”  

Gene yawned, stretching as if she’d just told him it was raining. “Mm. Let the automatic defense handle it.”  

He rubbed his eyes. “Breakfast ready?”  

Reina blinked at the monitor feed, baffled. “You’re unbelievable. We’re under attack.”  

“Reina,” he said around another yawn, “if that kind of firepower could breach this place, I’d be dead five years ago. Trust me, they’ll get tired before we do.”  

Across the room, Liz Parker was practically glowing. She swung her headset around her neck and flicked on a switch.  

“Oh, this is good,” she murmured. “Live coverage, prime time content.”  

She adjusted the dials, cleared her throat, and spoke into the mic with all the poise of a late-night radio host.  

> “Good morning, survivors across the ruins! This is Liz Parker, reporting from the one and only Hancock Fortress—yes, *that* fortress of our beloved Last Supplier!  

>  We appear to have a bit of excitement today: an unidentified armed group—roughly a dozen men—has decided to pay us a very rude visit!”  

Her tone was playful, dramatic; you could almost hear her smile.  

> “But don’t worry, folks—our gates are as patient as they are bulletproof! The Supplier himself is enjoying breakfast while the enemy provides the morning percussion! Stay tuned for live updates from the safest place left on Earth!”  

Reina gave her a sharp look. “Are you done turning this into a radio drama?”  

Liz winked. “Public relations. Keeps morale up—and makes sure no idiot out there thinks we’re an easy target.”  

Meanwhile, the north annex monitor flickered.  

Nara Vivienne, alone, sat frozen in front of the screen showing the attackers. The grainy feed revealed familiar faces—the same men who had sent her before. Her stomach knotted.  

She pushed away from the chair, heart hammering.  

No gun. No armor. Just fear and a lingering sense of debt.  

She remembered the tools near the outer gate—heavy, industrial ones used for repair.  

Nara grabbed a sledgehammer nearly as tall as she was, its handle splintered but solid, and made her way toward the side corridor.  

Every instinct screamed at her to hide, but she didn’t.  

She reached the narrow window near the steel door, pressed her back to the wall, and peered outside.  

There they were.  

The same men who had promised her “freedom” for betrayal.  

The leader, Parker—different from Liz, meaner by a lifetime—stood shouting orders, his beard catching the morning light.  

“On my mark!” Parker yelled. “We’ll melt this tin can open! Fire!”  

Gunfire erupted. The staccato thunder filled the air, bullets sparking against the fortress’s steel plating.  

But the door didn’t even flinch—just a few scratches, like someone had tapped it with gravel.  

Inside, Reina watched calmly as defense systems shifted from standby to active. Turrets clicked into place, target sensors glowed red.  

In the main hall, Gene sipped his coffee.  

“Automatic defenses online?”  

Reina nodded. “Online and tracking. But, uh—look at this.”  

The monitor showed Nara, crouched near the side door, sledgehammer in hand, watching the fight unfold.  

Gene blinked. “What the hell is she doing? Trying to die heroically?”  

Kayla folded her arms. “Or maybe trying to open the gate for them.”  

Reina shook her head, quick and certain. “Impossible. Once she left the annex perimeter, her ID lockout triggered. She can’t re-enter without my clearance.”  

Gene frowned. “Then she’s not helping them. She’s… trying to stop them?”  

“Or she’s just tired of running,” Alyssa murmured from behind her monitor. “Fight or die—it’s a common trauma response.”  

Reina leaned back. “Either way, she’d better be careful. Bullets don’t discriminate.”  

Outside, the attackers reloaded, shouting over the ringing echoes. Parker kicked a stone, furious.  

“She’s in there, I know it!” he barked. “The trader bitch! She thinks she can hide behind metal?!”  

He waved his hand, motioning his crew to spread out. The gunfire resumed, useless as ever.  

Inside, Gene watched quietly, eyes narrowed. “She’s not just scared. Look at her stance. She’s waiting for something.”  

“Yeah,” Reina said softly. “Maybe a miracle. Or maybe permission to hit something.”  

A fresh volley of bullets hit the steel, sparking a storm of orange light.  

Then the fortress defense system came alive.  

A low, mechanical whine echoed from the turrets.  

On the monitors, targeting markers flashed. The air outside shimmered with heat from the laser sights.  

Parker didn’t have time to shout before the first automatic cannon fired.  

The noise wasn’t a gun—it was a roar.  

Dirt exploded upward. The air shook. Men screamed and scattered.  

Inside, Liz covered her mic and grinned wide. “And that, dear listeners,” she whispered into the radio, “is the sound of poor decision-making.”  

Reina smirked. “Good morning, apocalypse.”  

Gene leaned back, mug in hand, and muttered almost kindly, “You warned them, Liz. I think we’re covered.”  

On-screen, Nara crouched lower, shielding her head as the thunder of defense fire filled the valley.  

And just like that, the morning returned to silence—punctuated only by the soft clatter of shells cooling on steel.