In the dim glow of the city's fading streetlights, Jack crouched behind a crumbling concrete wall, his breath shallow, his mind sharp. The cold night air gnawed at his skin, a constant reminder of everything stolen from him. His hands, steady despite the thudding pulse in his chest, gripped a small device. It was no bigger than a fist, but its power would be enough. The target: Sovereign Square - an iconic symbol of the regime’s control. The perfect distraction. The explosion would draw the guards away, and that’s when he’d strike. Jack wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t a faceless drone walking the streets under the government's watchful eye. He was the son of those erased, their names buried under layers of lies. His parents had been taken, shipped off like unwanted cargo, labelled “non-native” and abandoned. He was only a child then, but their injustice burned in him. When he was taken - a mere orphan - he was bought by the rebels. They didn’t raise him with love, but with purpose. They trained him to be deadly, unstoppable. He scaled the wall with ease, pausing on the roof to survey the city sprawled beneath him. The glow of the government’s “New Dawn” towers cast long shadows over the broken streets, their sleek glass facades reflecting the cold, indifferent moonlight. The air was thick with the scent of decay and the distant hum of machinery - a constant reminder of the regime's presence. He had to move fast - too many people depended on him. The rebels. The prisoners. His parents, though their faces were fading, were always with him. They taught him to trust no one, but tonight, he would trust his mission. A wry smile tugged at his lips. The government had made a mistake. Tonight, they’d pay.
