Erika crouched motionless for a few more minutes, ears perked, eyes scanning every corner of the shattered skyline. The Warthog had long since vanished behind the smoke, its roaring engines now just a ghost echo across the city. But its devastation remained. Streets that were once crawling with Bloomspawn now lay scorched and silent. Twisted bodies, burned husks, and shattered buildings formed a grotesque battlefield beneath her.
She adjusted her grip on the rifle and swallowed hard. The gunmetal taste of fear had dulled into something else now—weariness, maybe. Resentment. Survival instinct.
But mostly, exhaustion.
Her knee ached from the run. Her ribs still throbbed from where she'd slammed into a broken table earlier trying to avoid a patrol. She couldn't keep doing this.
The radio on her chest crackled once—softly, as if testing her. She hesitated. Then, with slow fingers, she reached for it and pressed down the mic button.
