The skies broke open.
Not with thunder. Not with fire.
But with mercy.
Thousands of drones flooded the air above every country. Cities, villages, broken towns, deserted ruins — no place was too far. No soul too forgotten.
This was MRD's global grid. A system once created for war, now repurposed for salvation.
Drones moved like birds of light, swarming with military precision. They didn't land on roads or drop from rooftops. They entered through shattered windows, slipped through broken ceilings, slid down corridors. They landed inside homes — placing food and water where the weak could reach.
A mother in Yemen fell to her knees as a drone hovered and dropped a pack of water bottles and nutrient bars at her child's feet. "He didn't forget us..."
A young boy in Haiti hugged the crate like a long-lost sibling. "We're alive... we matter."
But mercy comes at a price.
In every major drop zone, Reaper squads landed to provide security. Heavily armored. Brave beyond logic.
And the infected came like a storm.
In the ruins of Paris, a Reaper unit held a rooftop, protecting drones entering an orphanage.
The children inside watched through cracked glass as monsters charged from all directions.
One Reaper, bleeding and breathing hard, looked to his team. "Five more seconds. That's all the drones need."
He stood. He fired.
He fell.
But the drones delivered. The children survived.
In the alleys of Mumbai, another team fought tooth and claw to hold a food convoy. The infected bit through armor. One soldier lost his leg, still firing until he collapsed. "Just get them fed... please..."
In Chicago, a captain screamed into the comms: "Retreat! Retreat! They're overwhelming us!"
He stayed behind. His blood painted the walls. "If even one more survives... that's enough."
Across the world, thousands were lost. But millions were fed.
Drones returned, damaged. Burned. Scratched. But successful.
In a small shelter in Ethiopia, a girl touched the drone that saved her family and whispered: "Tell him thank you... whoever you are."
Back in the island war chamber, reports poured in. Live feeds. CCTV. Thermal maps. Casualty logs.
Rayyan stood before the massive screen, arms crossed.
Amir stepped beside him, watching the footage of soldiers holding the line. "We're bleeding to keep them alive... but we're doing it."
Rayyan didn't move. His eyes locked on a feed showing a drone landing beside a crying mother and child. "Because that's what he would've done."
And so, they did.
Without him. But with his will.
Still alive in every drop of sacrifice.