The asphalt baked against Elias's cheek.
Heat rolled off the rusted undercarriage of the transport skiff in punishing waves, pressing him flat into the cracked pavement of Sector Four. Dust and pulverized concrete rained down from the chassis every time a stray plasma bolt struck the heavy armor plating above him.
He dug his bleeding fingers into the dirt, forcing his breathing to remain shallow. His fractured ribs ground together with every inhale.
Out in the open intersection, the Vanguard fodder soldiers were dying. They had charged the Federation heavy armor with salvaged rifles and fanatical screams, expecting the towering skyscrapers above to crush the tanks for them. Instead, they met the unbroken, searing line of military-grade plasma fire.
The noise was absolute. It didn't just fill Elias's ears; it vibrated through his teeth and rattled the fluid in his joints.
