December 16, 2025 — 3:02 AM
Southbound — 12 Nautical Miles from MOA Complex
The lights of the MOA Complex twinkled against the low-hanging mist like scattered stars fallen to earth. From a distance, the walled arc of Manila Bay shimmered with flickers of red, blue, and amber—security towers, navigation markers, and solar towers reflecting against water.
Inside the Sea Phantom, Thomas Estaris leaned forward in his seat, one hand resting lightly on the yoke while the other adjusted the comms frequency.
His muscles ached from hours of strain. The suit under his vest was damp with sweat and salt. The boat groaned softly beneath him—every kilometer a reminder of the punishment it had taken.
But it was still moving.
And so was he.
He flicked the long-range band again and keyed his mic.
"Sea Phantom One to Overwatch Command Center. Ten nautical miles and closing. Confirm status."
A few seconds of static passed.
Then—
"Sea Phantom One, this is Overwatch Command."
