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Verdia Prime's capital was in flames. Once a shining testament to Earth’s ambition to colonize the outer ring, the sprawling metropolis now lay shattered, its sleek towers and bustling streets overcome by chaos. Massive plumes of smoke rose from burning vehicles and buildings, mixing with the dust and ash stirred by the constant crackle of gunfire and explosions. Once known for its green spires and reflective silver streets, Verdia Prime’s capital had transformed into a war zone, its avenues littered with debris, broken bodies, and the desperate echoes of the uprising.Earth Defense Force soldiers, outnumbered and low on supplies, struggled to hold their ground against waves of Verdia rebels, locals who had suffered generations of neglect under Earth’s iron-fisted rule. The planetary defense force, composed of local loyalists, was barely holding together, barricading themselves in key government buildings as the capital fell around them. The shattered remnants of Earth’s fleet floated like grim monuments above the planet, their twisted hulls drifting silently in orbit, destroyed in the opening strikes of the uprising. Verdia’s orbital defense weapons had been the first targets, and with their fall, Earth’s forces lost any chance of reinforcement.In the city’s heart stood the Governor's Tower, the capital’s tallest structure, fortified to withstand siege after siege. Built of reinforced metal and protected by energy shielding, it loomed over the shattered streets like a fortress. Inside, the wealthiest citizens—corporate magnates, planetary senators, high-ranking politicians, and the planetary governor himself—huddled in fear, staring out at the city they once ruled over with unchecked power. These were the people who, with a stroke of a pen or a careless vote, had condemned Verdians to backbreaking labor in the mines and factories, offering them little in return except pollution, poverty, and isolation.A rebel tried to rush up the building’s broad staircase, shouting with the fervor of a man who believed freedom was within his grasp. He wore a makeshift uniform, a patchwork of scavenged armor and worn fatigues, his face dirty and grim. He made it only a few steps before an E.D.F. soldier, stationed by the door with his rifle drawn, squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, echoing off the marble pillars, and the rebel collapsed where he stood, his body crumpling as his weapon clattered beside him. The soldier barely flinched; this was just one more body in the growing pile.Inside, the air was tense, thick with whispered conversations and hushed prayers. Many of the wealthy elites looked wildly around, some casting glances at escape routes that no longer existed. They could hear the muffled shouts and explosions from beyond the building’s thick walls, the cries of the people they had suppressed for so long now finally breaking through. The planetary governor, a gaunt man in his sixties with sharp features and a fine suit, paced nervously, wringing his hands as he stared at a flickering holomap showing the deteriorating situation. Every line that went dark, every district that fell to the rebels, felt like a death knell, and he was painfully aware that his luxurious office, with its sweeping views and imported Earth art, was now nothing more than a gilded cage.Beyond the windows, the city was a scene of rebellion. Buildings burned, smoke darkened the skies, and the streets were filled with citizens who had long been treated as little more than laborers, expendable and forgotten. This was a rebellion driven by generations of anger, and the Verdians were no longer willing to be ignored.The planetary governor stood before the gathered elites, his face a mask of forced calm, though his eyes betrayed the fear simmering beneath. "This is a minor uprising," he said, his voice firm but wavering slightly as the distant sound of explosions rattled the windows. "The E.D.F. will crush them within the hour. These… these rebels are little more than disgruntled workers with outdated weapons. Our soldiers are well-equipped and well-trained. Order will be restored soon."He surveyed the room, his gaze sweeping over senators, corporate tycoons, and planetary officials who all watched him, waiting for reassurance. Some nodded, clinging desperately to his words, but others exchanged anxious glances, sensing the governor’s bravado was paper-thin. The noise outside was unceasing now—the muffled roar of riots, the crackle of energy weapons, and the harsh cries of rebels demanding justice.Unlike the rebels outside, whose faces were hidden behind the cracked, bulky gas masks they had worn their entire lives, the governor and his fellow elites had no need for such cumbersome gear. Their skin was free from the irritation and rashes common among Verdians, a visible marker of their privilege. On Verdia Prime, the air itself was a constant threat, laced with pollutants from years of unchecked industrial runoff and mining waste. For the everyday Verdians, just an hour outside without a mask could mean a slow, suffocating death. But here, in the Governor’s Tower, and in the homes of the upper class, the air was fresh, pure, and pumped in through sleek, hidden filters that hummed quietly, unseen but ever-present.This clean air was a rare and expensive luxury, reserved only for those wealthy or powerful enough to afford it. The air purification devices were compact yet sophisticated, casting a soft, sterile glow in the ceiling vents. They hissed softly, purging the room of the toxins that plagued the rest of the city, maintaining an atmosphere untouched by the grime and harshness of Verdia Prime’s poisoned world. Those in the room could breathe freely, taking in lungfuls of fresh air without a second thought, while the citizens beyond the walls endured their daily existence through layers of rubber and filters.One senator, a plump, well-groomed man with flushed cheeks, dabbed at his brow with a silk handkerchief. "You’re certain the E.D.F. can manage this, Governor?" he asked, his voice shaky. "We can’t possibly… we’re not equipped for a prolonged siege here."The governor straightened his shoulders and forced a reassuring smile. "The E.D.F. has dealt with unrest before. These people will soon learn their place." He gestured around the immaculate room, as if to remind them all that this fortress of luxury and privilege would remain untouched by the chaos outside. But beneath his words was an unspoken truth, a fragile hope that their isolation could indeed shield them from the wrath of those they had oppressed for so long.As another explosion rocked the building, several of the gathered officials flinched. One woman, the wife of a mining executive, glanced anxiously at the air filters, almost as if reassuring herself they were still working. The scent of the pure air was crisp, almost medicinal—a stark reminder of how separated they were from the reality of Verdia Prime. Outside, the rebels choked on thick, smog-filled air as they fought and died for their freedom, but here, in the rarefied atmosphere of the governor’s inner sanctum, the air was fresh, clean, and safe. The contrast was brutal, a reminder that even the very breath they took was a symbol of the inequality that had driven the city to the edge.Yet the governor clung to his delusion. "They’ll be finished soon enough," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as he tried to ignore the screams echoing from the streets below.The Governor’s Tower, once a symbol of Earth’s power and control over Verdia Prime, had become a crumbling fortress, with the sound of desperate combat growing louder on every floor. The E.D.F. soldiers, elite troops outfitted with the latest weapons, gleaming armor, and advanced tactical HUDs, were forced to retreat, step by step, as the Verdians swarmed the building. Their sleek energy rifles crackled with bolts of light, their armor shining even in the dim halls of the besieged tower. But the rebels’ numbers were overwhelming, their fury unrelenting.The Verdians, clad in mismatched clothing and scavenged armor, wielded old kinetic rifles and battered pistols, weapons that Earth’s armies would have dismissed as relics. But these weapons, though crude, could still tear through flesh and bone. And the rebels’ sheer numbers, along with the desperation of those who had suffered under Earth’s rule, were enough to turn the tide. They had already forced the E.D.F. troops up into the tower, the soldiers fighting in brutal, close quarters as the Verdians advanced. For every Verdian that fell, another took their place, shouting battle cries that reverberated off the cold stone walls.In the lobby, the few remaining soldiers scrambled to create a last line of defense. As rebels banged against the doors with improvised battering rams and the butts of their rifles, the soldiers frantically pushed heavy furniture—the governor’s own polished desks, grand tables, and gilded statues—against the doors, hoping to barricade themselves in. Marble statues of long-dead Earth dignitaries were now reduced to mere obstacles, symbols of a power that was being ripped apart by the very people it once oppressed.The rebels’ makeshift battering rams thudded rhythmically against the heavy doors, their impact resonating throughout the room, each strike rattling the barricades the E.D.F. soldiers had hastily erected. The sound was deafening, a relentless pounding that seemed to match the heartbeat of every panicked elite inside. The governor, pale-faced, backed away from the barricaded door, his finely tailored suit a stark contrast to the dust-covered and bloodied soldiers struggling to hold back the onslaught. Senators, executives, and their families cowered together, their faces twisted with terror, whispering hurried prayers or simply watching in stunned silence as the doors began to buckle under the strain.“Brace yourselves!” shouted an E.D.F. officer, his voice hoarse. His command was barely audible over the din of the rebels’ chants and the rhythmic slamming against the doors. Every E.D.F. trooper knew that if the rebels broke through, the fight would devolve into a brutal melee, where their superior weapons and gear would offer little protection against the flood of enraged Verdians.Behind the barricade, the air was thick with tension and fear. The sounds of boots scraping the polished floors, the clinking of gear, and the muttered curses of the soldiers filled the room as they prepared for the inevitable breach. The elites covered their ears or clutched each other, their fear mixing with disbelief that the people they had once regarded as expendable laborers, invisible and powerless, could have risen up like this.The doors began to give way, splintering and cracking under the relentless assault. The rebels’ battle cries grew louder, punctuated by the steady hammering of their makeshift rams. Each blow seemed to sap the remaining hope from the soldiers and elites inside, the realization sinking in that this might be their final stand. The Verdians would not stop; they were fighting for their lives, their freedom, and their very right to breathe clean air. With every blow against the door, they grew closer to taking it. The room was filled with a heavy, suffocating silence as the governor and the elites watched the monitor. Every second felt like an eternity. The screen flickered as the first impact reverberated throughout the building—the barricades that had once stood proud against the rebels’ assault began to splinter. The sound of the door finally breaking loose was a deafening crack, like the sound of a final judgment being rendered. The Verdians flooded into the lobby, their faces twisted with rage and desperation, their mismatched armor stained with the marks of countless battles fought in the underbelly of the city.The first few rebels who pushed through the door were met with a hail of energy bolts from the E.D.F. soldiers. Their rifles sang with the power of cutting-edge technology, releasing searing pulses of energy that tore through flesh and bone. The rebels fell in sprays of blood, their makeshift armor offering no defense against the onslaught. Yet, for every rebel that crumpled to the ground, two more surged forward, emboldened by the sight of their fallen comrades, spurred on by the years of oppression they had suffered. The sheer number of them was staggering.In the chaos, the E.D.F. soldiers held their ground, but the momentum of the rebel forces was undeniable. The air in the building grew thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood. The floor was littered with empty energy pack casings, discarded rifles, and shattered pieces of furniture. Every moment that passed, the soldiers were forced to retreat further into the heart of the building, the echo of their boots a desperate rhythm against the stone floors.Finally, the last few E.D.F. soldiers, once so confident and poised, found themselves backed into a corner. They had no choice but to throw down their weapons, their faces pale with panic. The blood of their fallen comrades mixed with the dust and debris that clung to the floor. One soldier, young and trembling, was the first to shout. “We surrender!” he cried, his voice breaking as he raised his hands in a futile attempt to show peace. “Please! We didn’t want this—just following orders! Please don’t kill us!”The rebels, relentless and unfeeling, grabbed the two remaining E.D.F. soldiers and yanked them forward, forcing them to their knees. The camera’s view zoomed in, showing the faces of the young men, their eyes wide with terror. They were so young, barely more than boys, caught in a war they never asked for. Behind them, the elites and the governor watched in silent horror, some recoiling from the screen, unable to tear their eyes away, while others shook with fear, their faces pale with disbelief.The air in the room grew thick with tension as the rebels parted to reveal a figure—a man in the tattered remains of a planetary defense force major’s jacket. His gas mask obscured the lower half of his face, but his posture and presence commanded attention. His eyes, visible through the dark lenses of his goggles, were cold and unfeeling, as though everything had led to this moment. His armor was a patchwork of makeshift materials: scavenged plates, scraps of metal, and layers of reinforced fabric. He stood like a monument to the rebellion, an embodiment of everything the E.D.F. had tried to suppress.One of the young E.D.F. soldiers, his eyes wide with desperation, looked up at the major. “Please…” he begged, his voice barely a whisper, trembling in the thick, polluted air of the room. “I… I’m just a kid. I didn’t want this. I’m just following orders. Please… don’t…”The major stood silent for a moment, as though considering the soldier’s plea, but the hesitation was brief—an illusion. Without a word, he slowly reached down to his side, his hand brushing against the rough texture of his holster. He drew out a .44 Magnum, the gleaming barrel catching a flicker of light. The revolver was old but deadly, its weight a reminder of the violence that had been inflicted upon his people for years.The young soldier’s face twisted with the realization of what was about to happen. His voice cracked as he whimpered, “Please, no… I don’t deserve this…”With a swift, practiced motion, the major raised the revolver, aiming it at the soldier’s forehead. The sound of the gunshot was deafening, the brutal echo vibrating through the walls of the building. The soldier’s body jerked violently, blood splattering across the floor and pooling around him as his head snapped back. The room fell silent for an instant, the air heavy with the weight of death.The second soldier, paralyzed with fear, barely had time to react before the major turned toward him. The beggar’s face twisted in horror, his lips moving, but no words came. Before he could even plead for his life, the major raised the revolver again, and another gunshot rang out. The soldier collapsed to the floor with a sickening thud, his lifeless body crumpling beside his comrade.The elites in the viewing room, their faces pale and slack, stared in horrified silence as the two young soldiers were reduced to nothing more than bloodied corpses on the polished stone floor. Their lives extinguished in a flash, just as so many innocent Verdians had been before them, gunned down by the same forces they had sworn to serve. The governor’s face had drained of color, his mouth dry as he realized the consequences of his complacency. He had watched, for so long, as the rebels were crushed under the boot of Earth’s oppression. Now, he and his fellow elites were nothing more than helpless witnesses to the bloody reckoning they had long been warned about.The chaos of the battle had finally subsided, the sounds of gunfire and screams now replaced by a heavy silence. The room, once a battleground, was still. The corpses of the fallen scattered around the floor, the air thick with the stench of blood, sweat, and the acrid remnants of gunpowder. The major stood amid the carnage, his revolver still clutched in his hand, the weight of what had transpired heavy on his shoulders.For a long moment, he simply stood there, his expression unreadable behind the dark lenses of his gas mask. The others—his fellow rebels—milled about the room, their faces gaunt, their movements stiff with exhaustion. The major, however, was still. He could feel the oppressive weight of the mask against his face, a constant reminder of the toxic air that had plagued Verdia for as long as he could remember.To those around him, the act of removing a gas mask was a heavy, almost sacred gesture, one that held terrible meaning. It was not an act of defiance, not a gesture of rebellion—it was a surrender. It was what people did when they could no longer endure the poison in the air, when they chose the final release over the endless suffocation. To take off your mask was to take your life in your hands, to face the inevitable suffocation of Verdia’s toxic atmosphere with a resigned acceptance. It was something no one had ever done lightly.The major had seen it before—soldiers, rebels, citizens—removing their masks in moments of despair. They did it because they could not bear the thought of living another day under the suffocating weight of their world. The poison would kill them slowly, choking them over the course of an hour, but the end would come, and with it, the relief of breathlessness.But for the major, this was not an act of despair. It was something else.He had lived through the suffocating years, fighting for every breath, wearing the mask as a lifeline against the planet’s deadly air. But now, in this building—this haven, untouched by the world outside—he knew the truth: clean air was still within reach. Not outside, not in the smog-choked streets, but within the walls of the building that housed the politicians and the elite. They had the luxury of clean air, filtered through advanced systems that pumped fresh oxygen into their chambers. The major knew this. He had fought to get here, to this moment, and now he intended to claim his reward.With a calm that belied the chaos around him, the major lifted his gloved hand to the straps of his gas mask. The familiar weight of the mask had been his constant companion for so long that the simple act of removing it felt like an impossibility. His fingers moved with practiced precision, pulling the straps free one by one, releasing the mask from his face. There was no hesitation, no second thoughts. He was not giving up, he was not surrendering. He was claiming something that had been denied him for so long.As the mask came off, a wave of unease rippled through those around him. They knew what this meant. They had all seen it—the hollow eyes of those who had given in to despair, the bodies that had fallen, lifeless, after removing their masks. But the major stood firm. His face, still hidden beneath the dark goggles of his mask, remained unreadable.He reached up, removing the goggles with deliberate slowness, revealing his face. The harsh light of the building’s artificial illumination cast shadows across his features, but there was no fear in his eyes. His skin, pale and gaunt from years of exposure to the toxic air, now caught the first unfiltered breath he had taken in a long time.And then he inhaled.It was a slow, deliberate breath, the kind of breath he had only dreamed of in the deepest hours of the night, when the suffocating weight of Verdia’s poison felt like it might crush him. The air inside the building was cool, filtered, pure—free from the toxins that plagued the outside world. It was a luxury few had ever tasted. The air filled his lungs, crisp and fresh, a sensation so alien, so indulgent, that it was almost overwhelming.The relief was instantaneous. He could feel the burn of the oxygen in his lungs, the relief of breathing without the constant restriction of the mask. For the first time in years, his chest expanded fully, greedily, as he drew in more and more of the precious air.And then, to his surprise, a smile cracked across his face. It was small at first, a fleeting moment of disbelief. But then it spread, the corners of his mouth lifting into something almost triumphant. It was the first genuine smile he had shown in so long—no longer a smile of bitterness or anger, but one of pure, unadulterated relief.The others watched in stunned silence as he let out a long, contented breath, exhaling the air with a soft sigh of satisfaction. His laughter bubbled up then, low and rich, tinged with something almost manic—a release of tension, of all the years of struggle and suffocation. For the first time in so long, he was free.“I never thought…” he muttered, still laughing softly to himself. His voice was raw, hoarse from years of filtered air, but it carried the weight of someone who had been starved for breath. “I never thought I’d actually feel this. Clean air…” He laughed again, more to himself than to anyone else. “This… this is the real victory.”His comrades, still unsure whether to be confused or relieved, stood silently around him, unsure of what to make of the sight. They had seen men break in different ways—men who could no longer bear the weight of their world. But the major was not broken. He was renewed, awakened, as though he had emerged from some deep, suffocating dream.For him, this was not just the end of a battle. It was the first step toward something he had fought for long before the rebellion. It was the first real breath he had taken in years—the kind of breath that tasted of freedom.The major stood at the head of his group, his boots clicking against the polished marble floor of the capital building. The once-grand halls, now echoing with the sounds of rebellion, had become a fortress for the elite—those who had enforced Earth’s cruel rule over Verdia. As the rebels surged forward, their steps growing louder with each passing second, the major’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.“What now, Major?” The question came from a young soldier, his face smeared with dirt and exhaustion but burning with a quiet anticipation. His grip on his weapon was tight, and his eyes were fixed on the next step of their mission: the final capture of the governor and his cohorts.The major’s expression was grim, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the towering structure ahead of him. The building was a symbol of Earth’s dominance over Verdia, but no longer. “Now,” he said, his voice low, “we drag those bastards—the ones who’ve abused us, who’ve kept us in chains—and let them suffer as we have. We’ll show them what it means to take what we’ve lost.”As the words left his mouth, the rebels began to move quickly, making their way deeper into the building. They had already stormed the lower floors, overwhelming the EDF soldiers who had once stood guard, but now, the real prize awaited: the governor, the politicians, the senators—the ones who had lived in luxury while the rest of Verdia had suffocated in toxic air and unending toil.The governor’s office was at the top of the building, surrounded by security and barricades. But these barriers were no match for the rebels. The doors, once reinforced to keep the masses out, now splintered under the weight of the rebels’ determination. They were close now. The final confrontation would take place within these walls.When they reached the governor’s office, the sight was exactly what the major had expected: the elite, surrounded by their wealth, cowering behind barriers of luxury and privilege. The air was cleaner here, the walls lined with filters that kept the toxic atmosphere outside from seeping in. The politicians, senators, and the governor himself stood in a corner, trembling as they stared down the rebels who had come for them. They had never expected this day to come—the day when they would be brought to their knees, to face the very people they had kept in chains.The major stepped forward, his presence filling the room. “Get them out here,” he ordered his men. The soldiers moved quickly, grabbing the governor and his closest allies, dragging them from their places of comfort. The governor’s face, once so confident, now twisted with fear as he was forced to his knees in front of the major.His hands shook, and he looked around at his fellow politicians, searching for some kind of answer, some way out. But there was no escape.“You—don’t know what you’re doing,” the governor stammered, his voice breaking with desperation. “You can’t win this. The EDF—they’ll come back for us. They’ll crush you.”The major didn’t respond immediately. He simply watched the man, feeling the weight of years of oppression bearing down on him. He could almost hear the cries of the people who had died for this moment, the lives lost to the mines, to the factories, to the toxic air that had been allowed to poison the very ground they lived on.“Crushed?” the major finally said, his voice a low growl. “No. We are the ones who’ve been crushed, Governor. But not anymore. Now you’ll see what it feels like to suffocate. To drown in the same air we’ve had to breathe.”The governor’s eyes widened, and he gasped for air, panic rising in his chest. But the major wasn’t finished.“You’ll stay here,” he said, stepping back as his men surrounded the governor and the others. “You’ll breathe the same air as we did. It’s the only thing left we can give you.”With a signal from the major, the soldiers began to strip the governor of his jacket, forcing him to remain exposed in the center of the room. The floor beneath them was cold, the walls that had once stood as symbols of power now silent witnesses to their fall. One by one, the politicians were dragged into the center of the room, their gas masks stripped from their faces. The rebels moved with practiced efficiency, making sure the elite understood the message they were sending.The governor tried to speak, to beg, but the major simply raised a hand to silence him. “You’ll understand now, won’t you? This is what it feels like to be nothing more than a tool for those who care nothing for your life. This is the cost of your greed.”The major took a step back, allowing the others to surround the fallen politicians. He looked at the room, his eyes lingering on the faces of those who had been the architects of this world’s suffering. It wasn’t just about revenge—it was about making a statement, a statement that would echo through the halls of power on Earth.As the last of the elite began to breathe in the toxic air, their faces twisted with shock and pain, the major felt a grim satisfaction. Their suffering was only just beginning. He knew that they would never again look down on Verdia or its people with the same eyes.The governor’s cries echoed in the room as the first breaths of poisoned air took hold. There would be no escape, no mercy. For the first time, the oppressed had the power, and the message was clear: Verdia would no longer bend.The major’s boots echoed with authority as he stepped back into the governor’s office, the space still thick with the tension of his recent orders. The once pristine room now felt cold and sterile, the luxury furniture overturned and the polished marble floor marred with the remnants of the chaos that had unfolded. As he walked across the room, he took in the opulence—the grand windows that overlooked the skyline of Verdia’s capital, the glowing sculptures of Earth’s imperial ideals, and the expensive artwork lining the walls. It all felt distant now, a hollow shell of a forgotten world.He barely registered the soft hum of the room’s central console, which, under normal circumstances, would be used to communicate with Earth’s officials or manage the planetary systems. But today, it flickered to life.A hologram sparked into existence before him, a swirling column of blue light that quickly coalesced into the form of an officer—a naval admiral, his uniform crisp, adorned with the insignia of the EDF. The figure’s face was stern, hardened by years of service to Earth’s empire, his eyes filled with a quiet sense of urgency.“This is Admiral Jameson of the Earth Empire Defense Fleet,” the hologram began, his voice resonating with a calculated calm. “I am reaching out to the governor. We are currently stationed a month out, but we’ve received reports of escalating violence on the surface. Governor, we need to hold out just a little longer. The fleet will be there soon to bring the situation under control. Stay strong.”The major’s lips curled into a dark, knowing smile. He stood there, arms folded, eyes fixed on the shimmering hologram. He had heard these same words from Earth officials countless times, the hollow assurances of impending reinforcements, the promises that were never delivered.The admiral continued, oblivious to the change in atmosphere. “Governor, I trust you’re maintaining order and that your forces are equipped to handle the situation. Just a little more time, and we’ll take care of the rest. Earth will not abandon Verdia.”The major’s laughter broke through the admiral’s words, cutting through the sterile silence of the office. It was not the laugh of a man who found humor in the admiral’s message but one laced with bitter, defiant mockery. The admiral’s projection flickered slightly as if the connection momentarily stuttered under the weight of the major’s unexpected reaction.“What’s so funny?” The admiral’s voice tightened, and his hologram began to distort slightly, a faint trace of confusion creeping into his stern features. “This is a serious matter, soldier. Who are you to—”The major took a step forward, his boot scraping against the floor. The hologram wavered slightly as if struggling to focus on him. “You want to know what’s so funny?” the major said, his voice cold and sharp, each word biting into the air. “It’s that you think Earth’s fleet is going to save anything here. You think your ships can fix the mess your people created?”The admiral’s expression shifted from irritation to realization. “Where is the governor?” he demanded, his tone now more direct. “This isn’t a joke, soldier. Where is the governor of Verdia? I need him now.”The major didn’t flinch, standing tall before the flickering hologram. “The governor?” he asked, his voice low and laced with contempt. “Oh, he’s around here somewhere, admiral. He’s just… preoccupied with the consequences of his decisions.”The admiral’s hologram flickered again, his voice becoming more insistent, almost frantic. “Tell me where he is! I have orders from Earth! I need to speak with the governor immediately. Your rebellion is—”The major stepped closer to the flickering light of the projection, his eyes narrowing, locking onto the admiral’s image. “Rebellion?” he scoffed, his hands balling into fists. “No, admiral. This is justice. It’s the reckoning for everything your people have done. The governor’s not in a position to give orders anymore.”The admiral’s features hardened into a scowl as his image stabilized. “If this is some kind of joke—”“Joke?” the major cut him off, voice rising in fury. “You want to call it a joke? I’m standing in the governor’s office, surrounded by his allies, and they’re all dead. The only thing left here are the memories of the people who died because of him. Now tell me—how long do you think your fleet will take to arrive and clean up the mess you left behind? A month? Two months? You really think you can make a difference then?”The hologram flickered again, this time the admiral’s projection warping with the realization that the situation had completely shifted. “What… what are you talking about? You’re in the governor’s office? You—”The major smirked, his eyes glinting with a quiet defiance as he stepped away from the console. “You’ll find out soon enough, admiral. Just don’t take too long. We wouldn’t want your fleet to miss the party.”The admiral’s image continued to glitch, the flickering light finally cutting out as the connection died. The major stood in the center of the room, the silence now deafening, save for the soft hum of the systems around him.He didn’t need to say anything else. The message had been sent—loud and clear. Earth had been warned.The major stood alone in the governor’s office, his reflection faintly mirrored in the cold, unyielding glass of the monitors around him. With a final, defiant look, he pressed a small button on the central console, activating a city-wide broadcast that would echo through the streets, markets, and even the dark, choked mines across Verdia. This was the moment they had fought and bled for—the moment the people of Verdia would hear that they had shattered their chains.As his image appeared on screens and his voice reverberated through every speaker, he took a breath and began to speak, his tone steady yet fierce, laden with the gravity of a man addressing his people in their hour of triumph."Citizens of Verdia, our long night has ended. The governor is dead. His so-called leaders—those who kept us chained, who poisoned our air, who saw us as nothing more than tools—have been swept aside. Today, we stand victorious!"His voice rose, gaining strength with each word, reverberating from the speaker towers and pouring into the hearts of the Verdian people. From the workers in the toxic mines to the exhausted families hidden in the alleys, his words gripped them, bringing hope to faces worn with hardship and despair."But hear me, all of you," he continued, his voice edged with defiance. "Earth’s Empire, their so-called Earth Defense Fleet—they’re coming. They want to take back what they’ve stolen from us for generations. They believe we’ll roll over and submit, that they’ll walk in and take back Verdia as if we’re nothing. But they are wrong."A hush settled over the city as his words took root, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade."I promise you this, Verdia—our freedom was bought with blood, and we will defend it with blood. This is our world, our lives, our future. No one will take that from us again. Not Earth. Not their armies. Not their fleets."The broadcast screens flickered with the light of his intense gaze, his every word a vow that echoed through the dark corners of Verdia and into the hearts of those who had longed for this moment."Let them come," he said, his voice growing quieter, but stronger in conviction. "We will stand. We will fight. And we will die, if we must. But we will never kneel again. Verdia is free, and her sons and daughters will defend her with their lives. We will fight to the last man, to the last breath."A surge of pride and fierce determination rippled through the people. This wasn’t just a broadcast; it was a rallying call, a challenge, a promise of resilience and defiance. The people looked at each other, some with tears, others with clenched fists, as they felt, perhaps for the first time, the true weight of freedom.The major cut the transmission, his message now carried by the voices of those who believed it with all their hearts. Verdia was free. And now, nothing—not Earth, not the Empire, nor any army they could muster—could make her bow again.