POV: Amara – Aftermath of the Ambush
Location: Outskirts of Perimeter Zone B19
The wind was still now. Smoke curled lazily from cracked trees, scorched earth, and what remained of high-tech Resistance gear that had been obliterated within seconds.
The battlefield wasn't littered with bodies—it was quiet, surgical, and precise.
Amara stood at the heart of the carnage.
The tanks had halted, forming a perfect circle around her, guns tilted ever so slightly—ready again at a single signal.
Suddenly, one of the rear units pinged.
Movement detected.
Her visor zoomed in—heat signature: alive.
Only one. The Resistance commander.
Elira Morn.
Within moments, without warning, Black Axe Soldiers descended from the darkness. No sound. No light. Just swift, death-bound efficiency.
Clean shots. One by one.
The wounded resistance soldiers were silenced without agony. It was mercy from the Empire's point of view.
But for Elira—it was psychological torment.
She screamed. "No—NO! Stop! They're surrendering! I said SURREN—!"
A black-gloved hand gripped her by the collar and slammed her to the ground.
"You've lost the right to command," one of the Axe officers growled, voice deep and modulated.
Amara approached. Slowly. Calmly.
Elira's face was bruised, streaked with dirt and blood, but her eyes burned with defiance.
"You don't have to kill me," she spat. "We came for peace—we came to stop the madness your godfather has unleashed."
Amara knelt beside her, lowering her visor.
> "You walked into an imperial corridor with weapons drawn. Peace doesn't wear war paint, Commander."
"And that 'godfather'? He gave me one order: make examples."
She signaled.
Two elite guards stepped forward and shackled Elira in chains laced with signal scramblers and neuro-static disablers—there would be no rescue, no signal, and no sound for her to scream into.
Amara stood again and looked toward the horizon where drones had captured the entire ambush—the perfect footage for the next BNN broadcast.
She turned to her second-in-command.
> "Prepare the transport. I'm taking the commander personally… to him."
> "To Chris?" the soldier asked.
> "No," Amara corrected coldly.
"To the throne."
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