Silver-gray meteors sparsely fell.
The buildings at Silver Port were all post-war ruins, with the somewhat intact roads and wreckage tilted at bizarre angles.
The light from the flares flickered unpredictably.
The Exile lackeys guarding the outpost zone were heavily modified, with cheekbones covered by crack-shaped radiators, or simply replaced their eyes and nose with crimson glowing goggles...
The eerie and sinister atmosphere, coupled with the dizziness from radiation, cast jagged and distorted shadows beneath the feet.
John felt a sense of dreamlike detachment.
Bullets occasionally hit his body, the dull pain and threat making his adrenaline spike, his retina capturing more outlines, all marked with red data streams.
Bang, bang!
John vaulted over an abandoned vehicle, emptied his magazine, and leaned against the hood to relax his nerves and let the sensors automatically read the reloading action.
BIU, Zzz.
Bullets continually grazed past during the process.
