September 4, 2058 –
Nightfall, Missouri River Crossing
The caravan reaches the river at dusk. Three thousand kids line the bank, exhausted but unbroken. The water is wide, dark, and slow.
Elijah's group shadows them from the treeline—six adults, forty kids tucked in borrowed tents, waiting for the signal to cross.
Iron Patriot arrives with the moon.
He drops from a black helicopter in full armor, flag cape snapping like a whip. Twenty contractors in tactical gear fan out behind him, rifles raised. Drones swarm overhead, floodlights turning night to noon.
His voice booms through speakers. "Lost children! Come quietly. Your country wants you safe."
No one moves.
Aisha whispers from the shadows, "He's stalling for the cameras."
Kayden's illusion flickers beside Elijah. "I can hide the front line. Buy minutes."
Elijah nods.
Kayden steps forward, hands raised. The air shimmers.
The contractors see empty riverbank. The drones see peaceful surrender.
Then Kayden's face twists.
The illusion snaps into something else.
Not hiding.
Teaching.
The riverbank becomes a killing field.
Contractors see themselves gunning down children—bullets tearing through small chests, blood spraying in arcs, bodies dropping into the water like stones. Screams echo that aren't real but feel it.
Three contractors drop their rifles and vomit.
One turns his weapon on his own squad, screaming about monsters.
Iron Patriot's alloy skin gleams as he charges Kayden. "You little—"
Kayden doesn't flinch.
The illusion drills deeper.
Iron Patriot sees his own hands crushing a child's skull, brain matter sliding between metal fingers.
He staggers.
A contractor fires blindly. The bullet catches a twelve-year-old boy in the caravan's front line—real this time. The boy drops, chest blooming red, eyes wide on the stars.
The illusion breaks.
Chaos erupts.
Kids scream and run. Contractors recover, rifles up. Iron Patriot roars orders.
Elijah's shadows explode outward.
He reaches the boy first. Too late. The child's blood soaks the dirt, warm and sticky. Elijah presses hands to the wound anyway, shadows trying to hold life in.
They leak out between his fingers.
Maya's light flares white-hot, shielding the front line. Aisha blurs through contractors, bones cracking under her speed.
Kenji slams palms to the ground. Earth bucks, swallowing rifles, tripping armored boots.
Jonah floods minds with panic—contractors clawing at helmets, seeing ghosts.
Kayden stands alone in the open, tears cutting clean lines through dust on his face.
"I tried to warn them," he whispers.
Iron Patriot recovers, fist cocked.
Elijah rises, shadows boiling.
The river runs red under floodlights.
Not all of it illusion.