For the past hour, deep, thunderous booms had rolled across the land like distant storms trapped in the earth, their force rippling through the trees and vibrating through the frame of James’ car. The sound wasn’t steady it came in erratic bursts, each one hitting like a hammer against the sky, growing louder the closer he got.

  At first, he hadn’t been able to place it.

  Then he saw the smoke.

  Thick, dark columns spiraled into the sky beyond the treetops, twisting and unfurling like dying breaths from a wounded beast. It wasn’t just one fire but many the smoke stacked on itself, layered from dozens of different infernos, painting the entire horizon in black streaks.

  James drove out from the dense canopy of overgrown pines, where the world finally opened up before him.

  Jacksonville.

  He had never been there himself. Never had a reason to. He knew the basics—it was a coastal stronghold, sitting on the edge of a bay whose name he never cared to learn. It served as a key hub for SDS operations in the region, linking outlying towns and settlements in a single defensive network.

  And right now, it was under siege.

  James pulled off the road, parking his car behind the rusted-out frame of an old truck, its cab caved in from some long-forgotten explosion. He stepped out, his boots crunching against dry gravel and scattered shell casings, then made his way up the nearest ridge for a better vantage point. The climb was steep, but his boots found purchase against the jagged incline until the earth leveled out at the top.

  And from there, he saw hell laid bare.

  The coastal walls of Jacksonville were ablaze, entire sections blasted apart, leaving gaping wounds that exposed the city’s fragile innards to the sea. Beyond them, the streets choked with fire and ruin, smoke rising in thick black pillars that coiled into the sky, shrouding the skyline in an apocalyptic haze.

  James tracked the destruction with cold efficiency.

  The main defensive walls were holding—but just barely.

  Huge jagged breaches had been blown through, and in some places, they had collapsed entirely, spilling rubble onto the roads. Inside, he could see civilian districts gutted by fire, the charred remains of buildings leaning against one another like broken ribs.

  Then he looked out to the water.

  EHD warships sat just beyond the ruined coastline, their armored hulls cutting through the bay like drifting leviathans, their deck cannons still glowing hot from repeated bombardments.

  Another volley of shells roared from their batteries, streaking through the sky in long, fiery arcs, before slamming down onto Jacksonville’s wounded defenses. The shockwave rolled over the land a moment later, a deep concussive tremor that shook loose small stones beneath James’ boots.

  Jacksonville was bleeding, but it wasn’t broken.

  James' gaze sharpened, locking onto a massive coastal artillery battery that sat along the cliffside overlooking the bay. It was one of SDS’s last big guns, a large barreled monster buried deep in reinforced concrete, its rotating turrets now adjusting, the motors whining with strain as they corrected their aim.

  Then they fired.

  The thunderclap of their retaliatory shot shook the air, a single armor-piercing shell slicing through the battlefield in a high-speed blur before it slammed into the side of an EHD warship.

  The explosion was instantaneous.

  Flames ripped through the vessel’s midsection, a fireball bursting from its hull, sending twisted metal and burning debris flying into the air like shrapnel.

  James watched as secondary detonations rippled along the deck. The ship tilted hard to port, its once-dominant silhouette now buckling under its own destruction.

  Crew members scrambled—some throwing themselves overboard in blind desperation, others caught in the flames as the inferno devoured the ship from the inside out.

  The war machine let out one final groan, its metal frame twisting under stress, before finally sinking beneath the waves.

  One down.

  James just watched this wasn’t his fight.

  Not yet, at least.

  James remained on the ridge for hours, unmoving as the battle below raged on. The only thing that marked the passage of time was the rhythm of death, the constant cycle of fire, retaliation, and destruction.

  But eventually—EHD began to break.

  James saw it in their movements. A subtle shift from aggression to desperation.

  Their ships, once holding a firm, unrelenting line, were now scrambling. Their barrages slowed, their fire less concentrated, their movements less sure.

  The SDS artillery had claimed four more warships, their wrecks half-sunken, black smoke vomiting into the air as their ruins drifted lifelessly in the bay.

  The remaining EHD fleet began to retreat.

  James followed their withdrawal with his eyes, watching as the last of their deck guns fired off a final defiant salvo before they turned and faded into open water.

  Jacksonville had survived.

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  But barely.

  The coastal walls were in ruins, entire sections reduced to rubble, leaving gaping wounds that made the city look like a beast on its last legs. Shells had torn deep into the city center, carving through buildings, infrastructure, and people alike.

  It wasn’t a victory.

  It was just another day of war.

  James exhaled, rolling his shoulders. That was enough for now.

  This gave him the information he needed.

  He turned away, making his way back down the ridge to his car. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he fired up the engine and pulled onto the road.

  He wasn’t staying.

  He had a long drive ahead

  As James approached Norfolk, the city stood, but it was no longer the pristine stronghold he had left behind.

  The massive steel walls still loomed high, but now they bore scars—jagged fractures from artillery impacts, the charred stains of rocket strikes, and deep craters where explosions had bitten into the metal. Workers clung to the weakened plates, welding hasty reinforcements, sparks showering down like falling stars onto the broken streets below.

  Outside the walls, what had once been a thriving settlement was now a graveyard.

  The small town beyond the gates had been burned to the ground. The smell of charred wood and scorched flesh still clung to the air, thick and acrid. Some buildings were little more than collapsed ruins, skeletal frames left blackened and crumbling.

  The lucky ones had escaped.

  The unlucky ones?

  James' eyes flicked to the shapeless, sun-bleached remains that had been hastily piled and burned in makeshift funeral pyres.

  Most of Norfolk’s gates were locked down, thick reinforced barriers barring entry like the doors of a fortress bracing for another siege.

  The few gates that remained open were flooded with movement—one entrance designated for military transports, where convoys of armored trucks and humvees rumbled through, carrying supplies, wounded soldiers, and fresh recruits who didn’t yet know what they’d signed up for.

  Another was a refugee bottleneck.

  A line of civilians stretched down the road, their faces drawn and hollow, eyes filled with exhaustion and desperation. They clung to whatever possessions they had left, kids hiding behind parents, elderly standing on shaky legs, all waiting for the slow, agonizing process of getting cleared for entry.

  Some were accepted. Others weren’t.

  A middle-aged man at the front of the line begged, pleaded, his hands raised in surrender. The guards barely hesitated before shoving him back. He stumbled, catching himself on the dirt road, before one of the soldiers raised his rifle and slammed the butt of it into his gut.

  The crowd flinched, but no one stepped forward.

  James watched the man cough blood onto the ground, curling in on himself. The weak get left behind. That was just the way of things now.

  He didn’t stop.

  He drove straight toward the main gate, where heavily armed SDS soldiers stood watch, backed by tanks, humvees, and machine-gun nests.

  The moment he approached, the response was immediate.

  A small squad stepped forward, their rifles leveling at his windshield. At the checkpoint station, civilian cars were already being searched, their drivers forced to stand by while soldiers rifled through their belongings.

  James slowed the car as two guards approached.

  The first was a tall, broad-shouldered man, his exo-suit reinforced with extra armor plating, the grip on his rifle tight with practiced ease.

  The second carried a handheld scanner, its green lights flickering as it swept over James’ vehicle. The device hummed—then screeched, the lights flashing red like a goddamn emergency alarm.

  The scanner-wielding soldier stumbled back, eyes wide.

  The other guard’s rifle snapped up, the barrel locking onto James in an instant.

  “That’s a lot of weapons, sir,” the first soldier muttered, recovering quickly. His voice was firm, but wary.

  James didn’t flinch.

  “All part of the job,” he said smoothly. “I’m a mercenary.”

  With a flick of his wrist, he produced an ID card, seemingly from thin air. The small holographic display blinked to life, confirming his identity.

  “The name’s James.”

  The first guard’s grip tightened, his eyes flicking between the ID and James' face.

  “You… you mean the Richmond Reaper?” he muttered under his breath.

  The second guard’s expression shifted from suspicion to something closer to alarm.

  “No—no. James is Norfolk’s Devil.”

  They exchanged glances, as if confirming a whispered rumor that had suddenly stepped out of the dark.

  James leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

  “Huh. Been called a lot of things, but those are new to me,” he mused, his voice dry, almost amused.

  His gaze flicked between them, his posture relaxed, like a man who knew no one could touch him.

  “Been out of town for a bit. Looks like I’ve got some catching up to do.”

  He tilted his head slightly. “So, can I enter, or are we still playing twenty questions?”

  The two guards hesitated, uncertainty flickering between them.

  Then, a crackle of static came through one of their earpieces. The first soldier listened, his posture stiffening before he turned back to James.

  “You’re clear—but you’ll be escorted to the HQ building. Follow that Humvee.”

  He gestured toward a black armored Humvee that had just rolled onto the road ahead, its engine idling like it had been expecting him.

  James exhaled through his nose, rolling up his window.

  “Alright.”

  With that, he shifted into gear and pulled forward, falling in line behind the military vehicle as the heavy steel gates groaned open before him.

  Norfolk had changed.

  As James followed the Humvee through the gates, Norfolk unfolded before him unlike Jacksonville, which had been torn apart by the war, Norfolk remained intact—but it was no longer the same bustling hub he had left behind.

  The streets were still alive, but not with the same energy as before. Soldiers patrolled every major intersection, their rifles slung tight, scanning every passerby with sharp, wary eyes. Armored transports rumbled through the streets, carrying supplies, troops, and equipment deeper into the city. The once casual checkpoints had been fortified, now manned by squads of heavily armed SDS operators.

  The civilian population had changed too.

  There were fewer people out in the open—those that remained walked faster, heads down, avoiding eye contact with the soldiers. Some storefronts were still operating, but they weren’t catering to average citizens anymore—instead, they were set up for war logistics. Mechanics worked overtime, refitting and repairing military vehicles. Supply depots lined the roads, crates of ammunition and rations stacked high, guarded by watchful SDS troops.

  James’ car passed by a makeshift recruitment center, where a group of young men and women stood in line, signing up to fight. A hardened officer barked orders, pointing toward transport trucks that would likely take them to the frontline within days.

  It wasn’t the same Norfolk he had known before.

  It was a war city now.

  James kept his eyes moving, taking everything in. SDS wasn’t losing not yet at least but they were preparing for a prolonged fight.

  Then the two vehicles finally made it to the SDS HQ still pristine

  James exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

  It was time to see who was waiting for him.