Against the revolution

"New York 2001"

A man raced through the narrow alley, his heart pounding with fear and his body aching from injuries. Desperation etched across his face as he desperately sought an escape. Suddenly, another figure emerged before him, causing the man to swiftly change his course.

"Damn it! I've lost contact with the main center, and I can't outrun them. What a dire situation. But perhaps...," he muttered to himself, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and determination.

Seeking refuge, the man ducked behind a weathered wooden crate, frantically working on a small device in his hands. As he did, the sound of faint footsteps reached his ears, intensifying his unease. Before him stood a man with long, jet-black hair, dressed in a formal suit.

"Just as the Boss described, when you encounter a defender with long black hair, it can only be Tony," he thought, recalling the Boss's warning. "But there's something special about him—an eerie presence. His left half of the face resembles cold, black metal, and his left eye, a haunting shade of crimson that glimmers ominously in the darkness. He's like a goddamn terminator."

Tony drew nearer, his footsteps growing louder and more pronounced. Suddenly, a deafening explosion tore through the air as a landmine detonated, engulfing Tony in a cloud of smoke and debris. Seizing the opportunity, the man emerged from his hiding place, a triumphant smile gracing his weary face.

"Yes! I did it! Now I can finally catch my breath and take a moment to repair this piece of crap," he exclaimed, a flicker of relief and satisfaction in his eyes.

As the dust settled, however, the man's elation turned to shock and disappointment. Tony had not only survived the blast unscathed but showed no signs of injury. A wave of despair washed over the man as he confronted his own powerlessness.

"You spoke of relaxation, didn't you?" Tony sneered, a malicious grin spreading across his face. "Humans possess clever weapons, but this feeble contraption couldn't even scratch me. So, if you truly seek respite, acquire a new weapon or tap into your time-warping abilities. Or perhaps, you've exhausted every last ounce of time within your fragile vessel. In need of a recharge, aren't you?"

Fear surged through the man once again, shattering his faltering resolve. His heart raced uncontrollably as he resumed his desperate flight, every step a testament to his will to survive. Thoughts of his wife's tear-stained face filled his mind, fueling his determination.

"Shit! I can't die here. I must return. I can't bear to see her cry. I... I made her a promise!" he muttered, his voice tinged with both determination and desperation.

But Tony swiftly materialized before him, blocking his path with an air of indifference. Anger boiled within the man, etching a scowl upon his face.

"What the hell do you want?" he spat, his voice laced with fury.

"Calm down," Tony replied, his tone chillingly devoid of emotion.

With lightning speed, Tony thrust his hand forward, piercing the man's chest with bare, inhuman strength, obliterating his heart. Blood gushed from the man's mouth as he collapsed to the ground, his life slipping away. Another defender emerged from the shadows—a tall man with black hair, a lean build, and eyes devoid of any spark of life.

"Always so aggressive," the unknown defender remarked, his voice devoid of warmth or empathy.

The dying man's vision faded, and he experienced the cold embrace of death. His existence was abruptly

erased by the touch of the unknown defender, forever lost to the annals of time.

"Now, we move on," Tony declared.

"Why the troubled expression, Viole?" Tony inquired.

"And why would I be troubled?" Viole responded, his voice hollow.

"The main center, year XXX."

Meanwhile, in the heart of the main center, a flurry of activity ensued as everyone scrambled to locate "the man." A woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, her eye concealed by an eye patch, paced anxiously, her nerves frayed with worry as she awaited any news regarding his whereabouts.

"Boss! We've lost contact with the sensor implanted in Rally's heart. He... he's dead," a subordinate stammered, delivering the grim news.

"Damn it! Those damned defenders! I can't continue losing my soldiers one by one like this. Someone, get me Sam! How am I supposed to break this news to Sandra?" the Boss exclaimed, his frustration palpable.

"What? Rally? Dead? But we just got married! He promised me," Sandra exclaimed, her face contorted in shock and disbelief.

Unable to find the words to console Sandra, the Boss fell silent. Overwhelmed by the weight of her grief, Sandra succumbed to unconsciousness. Three hours later, she awoke in a hospital bed, her eyes fluttering open to find the Boss seated nearby, her expression one of sorrow and remorse.

"Hello, Sandra," the Boss greeted her softly, a sad smile playing on his lips.

Sandra remained silent, her heart heavy with sorrow.

"I'm deeply sorry for Rally's loss. I know that mere apologies can't mend your broken heart, but it's all I can offer for now. I promise you this, though—his sacrifice will not be in vain. Change is coming, and when it does, we will..."

"Enough with your promises! I'm tired of empty words. I'll make you defenders pay, all of you. I'll kill every last one of you!" Sandra erupted, her voice laced with rage and vengeance. "Just wait for me, Viole. I'm coming for you, and I'll make you suffer. Wait for me, you bastard!"