It was nighttime and the night fog had thickened to the point where even streetlights looked like pale orbs floating in milk. Red and blue flashes cut through the haze in broken rhythm — patrol cruisers, news vans, the glare of hovering police drones. Blinding Town, normally quiet after dark, now thrummed with tension and confusion.
The air reeked of smoke and wet asphalt. Helicopter blades churned faintly somewhere above.
Four figures slipped through an alley behind the mayor's administrative complex — Hutton, Bob, Boma, and Julian. Their faces were hidden beneath hoods and masks, every step calculated, every breath measured.
"Whole damn town's gone military," Bob murmured, glancing at a drone sweeping a nearby street. "Based on what I know, it seems like they've tripled patrols since the explosion. You sure this is smart?"
