Vice President Ivy said to herself "This might be our last stand." But from nowhere she saw Zen charging through the chaos, his rifle spitting fire. For a heartbeat, her eyes widened in disbelief. Reinforcements. Hope.
She stumbled forward as two guards dragged her toward the Stryker line. A drone swooped low, its guns screaming—but Zen was already there, rolling to one knee, his rifle cracking three shots in rapid succession. The drone spiraled out of the sky, crashing into the wreckage behind her.
"You're not done yet," Zen growled, grabbing Ivy's arm and hauling her forward.
Her breath hitched, half sob, half laugh. "I thought—no one was coming."
"We don't leave people behind."
The convoy tightened formation, covering the Vice President and the wounded as they loaded into the remaining vehicles. Every soldier moved with desperate speed, every shout drowned by the thunder of war.
Anthony barked into the comms: "Tanks, suppress left flank! Rainer, keep the skies clear! Joey, load the wounded now!"
And then—
A flash.
A deafening boom.
Zen felt himself thrown sideways, the world blurring into smoke and fire. He hit the ground hard, his rifle skittering away. His ears rang, his vision swimming.
Something burned hot across his side. He looked down.
Shrapnel. A jagged shard of metal jutted from his uniform, blood soaking fast around it.
For a moment, the battle seemed far away—the screams, the engines, the gunfire all muffled beneath the sound of his own ragged breathing.
He tried to rise, teeth gritted. His legs trembled, his strength faltered.
Anthony's voice cut through the haze, panicked. "ZEN!"
Zen forced himself up to one knee, his hand pressing against the wound. His eyes locked on the Strykers, the Vice President being pulled inside.
He couldn't fall. Not now. Not when they'd come this far.
But the world tilted, dark spots clouding his vision.
And still, inside his pocket, the note pressed against his chest. We will wait for you.
The battlefield burned.
Drones screamed overhead, their wings slicing the smoke. The tanks thundered, each blast rattling the ground, sending steel and flame spiraling into the air. Soldiers yelled, weapons clattering as the convoy strained to pull the Vice President and the wounded inside the armored vehicles.
But to Anthony, the world narrowed down to one sight—
Zen, staggering, blood pouring from his side.
"ZEN!"
Anthony sprinted through gunfire, bullets snapping past his head. Rainer was right beside him, firing short controlled bursts into the sky, cutting down any drone that veered too close. The acrid stench of gunpowder burned their throats, but they didn't care.
Zen dropped to one knee, teeth clenched, one hand braced on the concrete. He tried to lift his rifle again, to stand, to keep fighting—but his body betrayed him. His legs shook, his vision blurred. The jagged shrapnel in his side pulsed with every heartbeat, tearing deeper.
Anthony slid to his knees beside him. "Don't you dare drop on me, commander."
Zen's lips twisted into the faintest smirk. "I… don't plan to." His voice was strained, his breaths ragged.
Rainer knelt on Zen's other side, slinging his rifle across his back. His eyes burned with fury and desperation. "We need to move. NOW."
Another explosion rocked the mall lot. A Stryker jolted as a drone's missile slammed against its armor, fire spraying across its side. Soldiers scrambled, pulling hoses, suppressing flames. The Vice President was inside that vehicle, shielded by layers of steel and willpower.
But Zen was still bleeding into the dirt.
---
The Extraction
Anthony slung Zen's arm over his shoulders. "Up. On three."
"One… two…"
Zen groaned, but forced himself upright with their help, teeth grinding in pain. His boots dragged across the cracked ground as the two men half-carried, half-dragged him toward the vehicles.
Above, drones swooped low, their guns shrieking. Rainer turned, unloading bursts into the swarm, his bullets shredding one drone into a fireball. But another broke through, engines whining, its barrel locked on them.
"MOVE!"
A tank roared, its cannon swiveling just in time. The shell streaked upward, colliding with the drone mid-dive. The explosion rocked the earth, raining fragments of steel.
Anthony didn't stop moving. His throat burned, muscles straining, but he didn't care. "Hold on, Zen. Just hold on."
Zen coughed, blood flecking his lips. "Don't… waste strength. I can—walk—"
"Bullshit," Anthony snapped. "You're not proving anything right now. You're surviving. That's an order."
Zen gave a dry laugh that turned into a pained grunt.
---
Joey's Cover
"LEFT FLANK!" Joey's voice boomed over the comms.
A squad of drones broke through the tank fire, streaking low toward the convoy. Joey's men—exhausted, bloody, desperate—raised their rifles and RPGs. The first volley tore two drones apart, but three more pressed through.
Joey himself, his face streaked with soot, grabbed an abandoned RPG, hoisted it to his shoulder, and fired. The rocket screeched upward, slamming into the lead drone, splitting it into molten shards.
"Go, go, go!" Joey roared, his voice like thunder over the chaos. "We're not losing anyone else today!"
---
The Stryker
Anthony and Rainer hauled Zen to the nearest Stryker, its back hatch still open. Inside, medics were working frantically over wounded soldiers, bandages bloodied, IVs trembling with each explosion.
"Clear space! NOW!" Rainer barked, his voice commanding enough to cut through the noise.
Two soldiers shifted, making room on the steel floor. Anthony and Rainer lowered Zen carefully inside. Zen hissed in pain as his back hit the cold metal, but he clenched his jaw, refusing to scream.
The medics swarmed him instantly, cutting away fabric, checking the wound. One pulled the shrapnel, blood surging. Another pressed hard bandages to stem the flow.
"You'll live," one medic muttered, though his eyes betrayed his worry. "As long as we move fast."
Zen's hand shot up, grabbing Anthony's wrist with surprising strength. His eyes burned, not with weakness but command.
"Get them out," Zen rasped. His gaze flicked to the Vice President, huddled further inside, clutching her rifle with trembling hands. "She lives. They all live. No matter what."
Anthony's throat tightened. He nodded sharply. "Copy that, commander."
Rainer slammed the hatch shut just as another explosion rattled the Stryker. He climbed into the gunner's seat, his hands locking on the turret handles.
"Let's clear us a way out!"
The convoy engines roared to life, the tanks leading the charge. Cannons fired, shredding the path ahead. Strykers followed, their turrets sweeping the skies. Drones swarmed closer, but the vehicles punched through with sheer firepower.
Inside, Zen's breaths came shallow, sweat streaking his forehead. The medic's voice droned above the chaos: "Pressure's dropping—keep him awake!"
Anthony knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder. "You don't get to check out on me, Zen. Not after dragging us all this far."
Zen forced a faint smile, his voice barely a whisper. "Anthony… stop yelling. You're giving me a headache."
Despite everything, Anthony laughed—short, sharp, desperate. "That's the stubborn bastard I know."
It felt endless. Every kilometer was another storm of gunfire, another gauntlet of fire and steel. But finally, mercifully, the drone swarm began to thin. The tanks pushed through the last barricade of wreckage, their treads crushing twisted drones beneath them.
The convoy emerged onto open road. Smoke billowed behind them, the mall reduced to a smoldering graveyard.
Inside the lead Stryker, silence fell except for the hum of the engine and Zen's shallow breathing. The medics worked, steady but grim. Anthony stayed at Zen's side, his hands still pressed to the blood-soaked bandages.
The Vice President looked across the cramped interior. Her eyes met Zen's, then Anthony's. For the first time, her composure cracked—gratitude shining through exhaustion.
"You saved us," she whispered.
Zen's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "That's… the job."
And then his eyes fluttered, his body going slack against the steel floor.
"ZEN!" Anthony shouted, panic ripping through his chest.
The medic barked, "He's not gone—he's out cold! Keep pressure, keep him steady!"
Anthony's hands trembled, his throat tight. But he pressed harder, refusing to let go. "Don't you die on me, commander. Don't you dare."
And as the convoy roared south toward Subic, carrying survivors and the Vice President, carrying both victory and grief, one thought burned in every soldier's chest:
Zen had given everything to save them.
Now it was their turn to save him.
----
Return to Subic
The convoy's engines echoed through the valley before the bunker's massive steel doors even opened. Their treads groaned against the pavement, streaked with soot and blood, their armor dented and scorched from battle.
Word spread like wildfire inside Subic base: Zen's team was returning—with the Vice President.
But something was wrong.
Anthony's voice over comms had been clipped, urgent. "Clear the hangar. Prep medics. Zen's hit. Heavy."
Those words sent a ripple of shock through the survivors.
The inner doors rumbled open. Floodlights bathed the vehicles as they rolled in. Soldiers and survivors lined the edges of the hangar, their faces pale with anticipation and fear.
The first tank groaned to a halt. The Vice President herself stepped out, soot-covered and weary, supported by two guards. Gasps swept through the crowd—she was alive. The resistance had not lost its symbol.
But then the rear hatch of the lead Stryker swung open.
Anthony climbed out first, his face streaked with blood and grime, his eyes hard. He didn't need to say another word. Everyone saw the stretcher being pulled after him.
Zen.
Blood soaked his uniform, the bandages around his side crimson. His face was pale, his breaths shallow. Yet even unconscious, his presence seemed to radiate authority, like the very walls leaned toward him.
"Commander!" voices cried out. Some dropped their weapons in shock. Others pressed fists to their chests in salute.
Rizz stood frozen near the edge of the crowd, her heart slamming so hard she thought it might crack her ribs. Her hands trembled, her throat dry. She had written the note—We will wait for you—and slipped it into his uniform before he left. She hadn't expected to see him again so soon. And not like this.
Maricar gripped her arm, whispering, "Rizz… he's alive. They've got him. Don't—don't lose it here."
But Rizz couldn't stop the tears that burned her eyes.
---
Genesis Arrives
Genesis pushed through the crowd with Jerald at her side. Her eyes locked on the stretcher, and for a moment her calm façade cracked. She knelt beside Zen as the medics hurried him across the floor, brushing stray hair back from his blood-streaked face.
"Hold on, commander," she whispered fiercely. "You're not leaving this fight. Not now."
Jerald's jaw was clenched tight, his hand gripping his rifle like he wanted to smash the entire world for letting this happen. "Anthony, what the hell happened out there?"
Anthony's voice was flat, controlled only by discipline. "Shrapnel. Near miss. He kept fighting until we pulled the Vice President out. Then he collapsed. If it weren't for the medics—" His voice caught for the first time, his hand fisting. "—he'd be gone."
Genesis nodded sharply, forcing herself to keep command. "Get him to the medical bay. Now. I want constant watch. And a rotation of medics. He doesn't slip, not for a second."
The medics rushed Zen toward the inner corridors, wheels squealing as they pushed the stretcher.
As the hangar emptied, survivors began to murmur—some in grief, some in awe. They had seen heroes fall before. But not Zen.
Rizz lingered near the wall, her nails biting into her palms. She wanted to rush forward, to throw herself at his side, to scream at the world that he couldn't leave them. But she couldn't. She wasn't a soldier, she wasn't Genesis. She was just… her.
Maricar's hand squeezed her shoulder. "You can't go after him right now. The medics—"
"I know," Rizz whispered, her voice cracking. Her eyes never left the corridor where they'd taken Zen. "But I can't just stand here either. He… he has to know he's not alone."
Maricar frowned gently. "Then be ready when he wakes. That's when he'll need you."
Rizz swallowed hard, wiping at her eyes. But she couldn't shake the ache in her chest. When she saw Genesis kneeling by Zen, whispering like he was the most important thing in the world, jealousy clawed at her heart. She hated herself for it, but it was there, raw and sharp.
Why does it hurt this much? she thought. Why him?
Still, as she turned away, she pressed her hand over her chest where her note had once been—now somewhere on his bloodied uniform, carried into battle.
Meanwhile, the Vice President—ashen, but steady—addressed Genesis and Jerald in the hangar. "You saved me, but at a cost. Your commander… he risked everything."
Genesis' eyes hardened, her grief masked by steel. "That's who he is. Who we all are, if we're to survive."
The Vice President nodded slowly, her gaze shifting to the bunker around her. "Then this place… Subic… may be the key. If we are to fight back, truly fight back, we'll need everything it holds."
Anthony stepped up beside her, his rifle slung but his face cold. "Then we hold it. With blood, sweat, and everything else we've got."
---
In the Medical Bay
The medics worked frantically under harsh white lights. Bandages tightened, IVs hung, machines beeped softly. Zen lay still, unconscious but stubbornly alive.
Outside the room, Anthony leaned against the wall, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. Rainer sat nearby, his head in his hands, silent. Joey and Gino hovered close, eyes haunted.
Genesis stood at the glass, arms crossed, her expression unreadable—but her fingers tapped against her arm, betraying her restlessness.
And in the corner, barely noticed, Rizz lingered. She hadn't dared go in, not with all the medics and commanders. But she stood guard all the same, her lips moving silently.
A prayer.
A promise.
Come back to us, Zen. Please…