Dawn in Northern Darfur.
The sky was a cold, ashen white, the thin morning light unable to pierce the lingering chill over the Gobi Desert.
The training base of the "Musician" Defense Company, sprawling like a steel behemoth on the wasteland, had long been awakened by a primal and frenzied wave of sound.
Over five thousand hearts beat in quick rhythm, converging into a low, oppressive hum.
At the entrance of the base, chaos reigned like a boiling sandstorm vortex.
The engine roars of pickups howled with exhaustion, kicking up a cloud of yellow dust.
Soldiers dressed in faded camouflage, tribal robes, and even tattered civilian clothes surged from all directions like iron filings drawn by a magnet.
