Sun fall came quietly.
The western block did not.
Four men lingered near the old textile warehouse, pretending to argue over scrap metal and other junks.
They weren't arguing. They were watching.
From the rooftops in the distance, Adam, Hans's very first Army Soldier, lowered his binoculars.
"Red dot confirmed," he muttered. "Everyone, move."
A squad advanced without a warning. Then chaos came.
One man ran away, but he couldn't make it past the next alley.
Another reached for a concealed pistol, too scrapped to be even called one.
As his fingers touched the rusting metal, his dead body long fell to the ground.
He never fired, nor even knew how he died.
The third dropped to his knees before anyone touched him.
The fourth... died with regrets.
Alexei walked out of the shadows. He scanned each corpse, noticing a few details.
"These are recent survivors," he spoke. "Search the area. There may be others nearby."
...
