A deep silence reigns over the makeshift tent that has been turned into their de facto command center. It felt immensely heavier than the cascaded concrete that crushed their father's facilities. Outside their tent, bugs and flies hover over dark rust-colored stains that have long crystallized into brittle scales with a metallic stench from copper and iron, mixed with the burnt scent of electronics.
Peter stood in front of a glowing screen that displays coordinates, signal strength and a single blinking indicator, surrounded by the fog of war.
JOHN GLENN QUAGMIRE – ACTIVE
"He's alive…" The words barely escape Pius.
Paul's hands trembled as he hovered his index finger and expanded the signal data. Sixty kilometers north, signal strength fluctuating, but stable. Most importantly, he is responsive to communication attempts.
"H-How long?" Philip's voice stuttered. "How long has he been out there while we…"
"While we what?" Peter's voice was intense.
