In the fading light of dawn, Kirion stood before the newly assembled task teams. Maps rustled in the wind, lines of red and blue ink webbing across satellite images spread over the table. Each mark represented a vital mission, a dangerous reach toward information, allies, or technology that could shift the war's momentum.
"We've located remnants of resistance cells that were scattered in the early purges," Kirion began, pointing to circled regions. "They went dark years ago—some may be disbanded, others in hiding. But if there's even a chance they're alive, we need them."
Kael stepped forward beside him, her voice precise. "We're splitting into three teams. Recon, contact, extraction. Each one is crucial. We bring back every scrap of knowledge, every willing fighter, every tool left buried."
The resistance was no longer centralized—it had grown into a decentralized network, flexible but fragmented. Over the years, many had vanished without a trace. Some had disappeared into exile, others into prisons or shallow graves. But now, they had a list of names and coordinates—half-forgotten whispers of past hope.
Zae volunteered to lead the extraction team. Her familiarity with urban terrain and covert operations made her ideal. "If even one of these survivors still has fire in them," she said, "I'll bring it back."
Kirion gave her a nod. "Take Del and Rowan with you. Move fast, no exposure."
Meanwhile, Kael took command of the recon unit. She preferred the shadows and knew how to sniff out traps masked as opportunity. Kirion, blinded no more but still cautious with his recovered sight, would accompany the contact team. His name alone carried enough weight to rekindle dying sparks of resistance.
Their targets were scattered across war-torn sectors—abandoned towns, corrupted government facilities, forgotten villages. Each mission was like threading a needle through barbed wire.
Three days in, Kael's team uncovered a decimated safehouse, still bearing the coded sigil of the underground. Beneath the floorboards, they discovered journals detailing the last known meeting of a rebel leader thought dead. Though the leader was gone, the records offered a map to another, possibly still active cell deeper inland.
Zae's extraction team wasn't so lucky. In a bombed-out hospital in Sector 4, they found only ash and bone. Yet in the wreckage, Del unearthed a backup drive with encrypted medical data—one that matched government files Kirion's daughter had breached months prior. The drive might hold proof of secret experiments on captured dissenters.
Kirion's own mission bore fruit. In a hidden valley community, cloaked under the guise of a reclusive farming collective, he met a woman named Liora—once a high-ranking strategist in the old rebellion. She was cautious but sharp, and her network of scouts had tracked government movements better than any satellite.
"You want me to rise again?" she asked him, skeptical. "You think one man's conviction can bind scattered bones into a fist?"
Kirion smiled, scars catching the sunlight. "Not one man's conviction. A people's desperation. A daughter's code. A broken world ready to be rebuilt."
She studied him a moment longer, then nodded. "Then let's gather the rest of the bones."
By the week's end, the task forces returned—some wounded, all changed. They brought back allies, intel, gear, and new questions. But above all, they brought back the scattered pieces of a broken revolution.
It was time to fuse them into a weapon.