The air inside the defensive trench of Sector Seven didn't feel like air anymore. It was a thick, toxic soup of vaporized sulfur, pulverized limestone, and the unmistakable metallic tang of blood. The concrete walls of the quadrant shuddered violently as another atmospheric strike from the imperial orbit smashed into the upper ridges.
"I am aware of the probability margins, Gwen," Lucien whispered, his voice catching on the dry, sulfurous air as his hands shook so violently that he could no longer maintain his grip on his data slate.
