RONAN I isolated the section of the feed showing the platoon leader and zoomed in, filtering out the rest of the chaos until he filled my vision. The image jittered slightly as the drone compensated for wind and smoke. The man reached behind his shoulder and pulled free a long, rectangular box, dark and unmarked. With a practiced motion, he slammed its base into the pavement. Three metal legs snapped out from the sides with sharp, mechanical cracks, anchoring it in place. The box began to swivel, rotating smoothly on a rod set into a notch along its side, the movement precise and unnervingly calm amid the gunfire. After a few seconds, the soldier braced himself against the side of a wrecked car, pressing his body flat and turning his face away, putting as much distance between himself and the device as he could without abandoning it. The box swiveled west. Its tip tilted upward, angling forty-five degrees into the air. A burst of motion followed. A number of small disks shot out in rapid succession, arcing high overhead. Almost immediately, the launcher turned south and repeated the process, spitting more disks into the sky before going still. On my screen, puffs of smoke bloomed above most of the red triangles marking police positions. A heartbeat later came sparks, flashes of flame, and abrupt signal dropouts. Many of the triangles had been clustered tightly together. The disks detonated above them, and I realized each one could strike multiple officers at once. When the smoke thinned, only two red triangles remained. They were flashing.I zoomed in further and saw the two police officers rolling across the pavement, clutching at themselves, blood pouring from dozens of small wounds. Their movements were frantic, uncoordinated. No one else was moving. No one else had survived. In less than thirty seconds, a single weapon had turned certain defeat into something resembling victory. A hard victory, paid for in lives. Many soldiers were dead as well. I was not sure how many the platoon had started with, but now only four green tags remained on my display. One of them was flashing too, the indicator pulsing insistently. With the battle over, reality pressed in. I needed to get closer to my parents’ house before the bike’s battery ran dry. I watched as two soldiers moved cautiously toward the wounded deputies, weapons raised. The platoon leader peeled off and headed for his injured teammate instead.“I will be approaching from the north,” I announced over the comm, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Look forward to meeting you,” he replied. ***** The bike rolled to a stop beside the smoking remains of the dead deputies. Through the translucent canopy, I could see the aftermath clearly. Hundreds of jagged metal fragments had torn into bodies, vehicles, and pavement alike. Doors were shredded. Windshields were opaque with cracks. Blood pooled where the ground dipped. Each small puck had flown over the groups, detonated midair, and rained down a storm of lethal metal. I was the reason these men were dead. I had made this happen. A heavy wave of guilt and nausea crashed over me, sudden and overwhelming.My stomach clenched. My hands tightened on the controls. I could not make myself look away from the devastation, even as every instinct screamed to do so. A sharp rap against the canopy made me flinch. I looked up into the face of the platoon leader, his identity tagged instantly by my contacts. His expression was rigid, his eyes shadowed and bloodshot. I opened the canopy. The man looked me over slowly, methodically, his hands never leaving his rifle. After a moment, he gave a short nod. “Thanks for the drone,” he said. “Our system would not work without it. Their first shot killed my electronic warfare officer.” The words were appreciative. His tone was not.Dark circles ringed his eyes, the kind that came from exhaustion layered on top of grief. I nodded in return, then let my gaze drift back toward the bodies. “Glad I got here in time to help,” I said. My voice sounded flat, even to my own ears. “It was not easy the first time we had to kill law enforcement,” he said. “It has not gotten easier. They have not left us any choices.” “I believe you,” I replied, meeting his gaze again. My own eyes felt just as hollow. “I have been driving through the police checkpoints you faced. I saw the soldiers you left behind.” He nodded once. “One moment we were passing a checkpoint. The next, my platoon was under fire. At first we thought it was insurrectionists.” He paused. “Then we realized it was the police. They just turned on us. Every captive rants about army war crimes.” His jaw tightened. “I started with thirty men and women. Now we are down to four.” Silence settled between us, thick and uncomfortable.“Did not catch your name,” he said at last. I looked at him. “Did not give it.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Want to explain why?” “You are not the only one with people hunting you,” I said, flicking my gaze to the name stitched onto his vest. “Sergeant Fletcher.” Fletcher studied me carefully, his posture shifting almost imperceptibly. “Are you a spy?” “Let us just say I am helpful.” His hand slid closer to the trigger, finger resting along the guard. “How do I know you are not working for whoever is behind all this?” I raised an eyebrow. “Because I would have let them kill you,” I said, nodding toward the bodies behind me. “You could be using this to gain favor,” he said. “To follow us to our headquarters.” I let out a short laugh, sharp and humorless. “Good grief. You should join a spy agency. You are incredibly suspicious.” The last trace of warmth drained from Fletcher’s face. The butt of his rifle snapped into his shoulder. The barrel leveled at my chest. “Get out of the vehicle.”