The bright floodlights of Sanctuary cut through the red smog of Day Zero like a massive glowing middle finger aimed directly at the United States military.
A mile away in the hastily constructed command tent of the National Guard, Colonel Vance slammed his fist against a folding table.
"Turn off those goddamn lights!" Vance roared as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "I gave the order to cut their grid! How are they projecting that much wattage without municipal power?!"
A communications officer frantically typed at a laptop while sweating profusely in his tactical gear. "Sir thermal imaging shows no diesel exhaust. They aren't running generators. The energy signature is anomalous. It's registering as a localized high voltage atmospheric storm."
"Magic," Vance spat the word out like it was poison. "They have a magic castle and now they have magic electricity. Fine. Frontal assaults are off the table. Artillery didn't scratch the paint. We go to Plan B. Send in the freaks."
