**New York City – 3:27 A.M.**
The van careened through the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan, tires hissing against water and rubble, the city a blur of chaos under a sky heavy with storm clouds. Inside, Charles Kane gripped the edge of his seat, his knuckles white, his sharp green eyes darting to the windows as the city's lights flickered and died. One by one, skyscrapers went dark, their glowing facades snuffed out like candles in a storm. Streetlamps failed, casting long shadows that merged with the night. Traffic signals blinked twice before blacking out entirely, plunging the streets into an eerie, unnatural darkness.
In the distance, the hum of New York City—a constant, living pulse that had defined its rhythm for centuries—fell silent, replaced by the patter of rain and the occasional crack of thunder. The city was no longer a beacon of civilization; it was a battlefield, and Charles and his team were at its heart.
