The death of hope I

Mexico remained under constant tension. The north, firmly under the control of the Legion, was becoming an increasingly authoritarian territory where individual freedoms were the price paid for the security and stability offered by Caesar's military might. The beasts had been eradicated in many areas, commerce was flourishing, and the trade routes were protected under the banner of Caesar. But this peace was merely a mask that concealed an iron fist.

Meanwhile, in the south, the once-mighty Mexican Machine God, the artificial intelligence that had governed with relentless precision, was slowly dying. Its calculation processes were failing more and more, and the robots that maintained the state's vital infrastructure were no longer responding as before. Food production was compromised, control over industry was collapsing, and the massive cities that once depended on the AI were beginning to crumble. Those who had lived under the supposed security of mechanical rule were now migrating, searching for a new stability.

Some were drawn to the Legion's domain, enticed by security and thriving commerce, although they knew they would have to give up their freedoms under Caesar's yoke.

Others, however, chose to stay far from the Legion's shadow, moving toward territories still resisting its control. One such refuge was the state of the Free Fighters.

The Free Fighters represented a bastion of freedom amidst the chaos. A society born from the frustration with the cartels and bandits that once controlled their lands, they had expelled the cartels and seized control of their own destiny. Wearing lucha libre masks as a symbol of resistance, they united under the promise to fight tyranny in all its forms. Their government, based on strength and combat skill, revolved around the "Triarchy of the Three Masks," a trio of leaders that changed frequently depending on who proved to be the strongest at any given moment.

Under this system, the Free Fighters had defeated the cartels and bandits, and more and more citizens joined their cause, embracing the lucha libre mask as a symbol of freedom and power. Their headquarters was in the city of Los Mochis, a place now resonating with the echoes of constant battles, where strength and skill determined the fate of their leaders.

However, their greatest challenge was about to arrive. Caesar's Legion, always hungry for expansion and consolidation, had its eyes set on them. The Legion saw the Free Fighters as a challenge to its authority and an obstacle to its total control over the former Mexican state. Tensions were high, and everyone knew it wouldn't be long before the Legion knocked on the Free Fighters' door.

During one of the local leadership contests in a frontier town, where contenders fought in the ring with their masks, displaying their combat prowess and strength for the title of leader, the crowd cheered wildly. The atmosphere was electric, and no one noticed the distant explosion to the east. The cheers drowned out any sign of danger, and the fight continued uninterrupted.

But moments later, a strange whistle cut through the air. The crowd barely had time to react before a shell struck the center of the ring. The explosion was immediate and devastating, shaking the entire town. The bodies of the contenders lay dismembered, scattering blood and entrails everywhere. What had been a bustling, vibrant plaza was transformed into a landscape of death and chaos in seconds.

The silence that followed the explosion was as dense as the smoke rising above the remains of the ring. Those few who hadn't been hit by the blast stood frozen, staring at the horror before them. Shouts of terror and orders began to ring out across the town. The Free Fighters, caught off guard and enraged, prepared for the inevitable.

Artillery shells continued to rain down with lethal precision, obliterating the few structures still standing in the small border town. Each explosion shook the ground, raising debris and dust that obscured the vision of the townspeople as the air filled with the stench of destruction. A thick wall of dust on the horizon announced the impending arrival of the Legion's armored vehicles.

There weren't many, but their power was overwhelming compared to the town's makeshift defenses. The lead tank, one of the Legion's new armored units, advanced relentlessly, crushing any resistance in its path.

From the eastern hills, mobile artillery continued to pound the Free Fighters' defensive positions, with shells tearing through the few barricades they had managed to set up. Each shot from the cannons was devastating, reducing the town's defenses to smoldering rubble.

The Free Fighters, accustomed to close combat or low-intensity firefights, were helpless against the sheer brutality of the armored vehicles. Their masks, once symbols of resistance and pride, were now mere shadows of what they represented in the face of the Legion's unstoppable war machines. With each explosion, their forces weakened further, and their attempts to regroup were futile.

The centurion in charge of the Legion's advance, seated inside the lead tank, observed the progress with cold determination. "I want this town under control before sunset," he ordered through the communicator. "There must be no survivors left who can raise a mask against us."

As the dust settled and the vehicles pressed forward, the Free Fighters, outnumbered and outgunned, tried to organize one final resistance. But the roar of the engines and the thunder of the cannons made it clear that their heroic fight, no matter how valiant, was doomed. The Legion's war machines would continue to crush everything in their path until only ashes remained and the echoes of a town that once dared to resist Caesar's power.

Scenes like these were repeated all along the border. Every town, every village faced the relentless advance of the Legion. Not all attacks were accompanied by the roar of artillery cannons or war tanks. Instead, columns of armored vehicles moved forward, supported by 25mm machine guns mounted on armored transports, which devastated everything in their path. Legion steel carriages penetrated enemy territory, synchronizing attacks at multiple points simultaneously, preventing any form of organized response from the Free Fighters.

Communications between the Free Fighters collapsed within hours. Their cries for help were interrupted by bursts of gunfire or explosions. Chaos reigned in their ranks as they tried to predict where the next attack would come from. With every ambush or skirmish, their resistance weakened, and the Legion pressed further into their lands, consolidating control with ruthless military precision.

The border towns quickly became battle zones, each one marked by the ferocity of the Legion's attack. Caesar's warriors, clad in their power armor, descended from their transports and advanced without mercy. The local defenses, improvised and ineffective, were destroyed within minutes. Barricades exploded under the might of grenade launchers mounted on power armor, reducing protections to rubble and filling the air with shrapnel and fire. Buildings, once homes and shelters, burned as Legion flamethrowers methodically eliminated any cover that could harbor resistance.

In every captured town, the Legion left no stone unturned. The few survivors who hadn't fled or fallen in combat were captured.

Faced with the Legion's invasion, thousands of civilians, inspired by their tradition of fighting and the masks they wore proudly, took up arms. With unshakable determination, they prepared to confront the enemy now marching on their lands. The masks, symbols of resistance and strength, hid faces full of anger. They knew the fight would be fierce, but surrender was not an option. Armed with old bolt-action rifles, pistols, and, above all, their skill in hand-to-hand combat, they charged into battle, hoping to overpower the feared Legion.

However, the reality of the confrontation was brutal. The legionaries, clad in their power armor, advanced like an unstoppable wall. Wielding machetes and enormous two-handed weapons taken from the super mutants, Caesar's warriors dove into close combat, relishing the chance to prove their strength and loyalty. The Free Fighters' combat techniques, so effective against narcos and bandits, were now useless against the Legion's brute force .

The masked fighters, despite their bravery, fell one after another. The bullets from their bolt-action rifles and pistols barely managed to penetrate the legionaries' armor, who responded with devastating blows. Each swing of the two-handed swords and every slash of the machetes left bodies dismembered and drenched in blood. The battlefield quickly filled with the screams of the wounded and dying.

The legionaries, trained to relish the fight, approached with a mix of coldness and fury. Every masked fighter attempting to use their combat prowess was swiftly crushed under the overwhelming power of the Legion. Machetes struck with lethal precision, and the super mutant swords, now in the hands of the legionaries, cleaved through the Free Fighters like paper.

The Legion's attacks were swift and methodically ferocious. Using their armored vehicles as a shock force, they moved with devastating precision. They attacked, withdrew, and then struck again from a different angle, confusing the Free Fighters, who desperately tried to organize a coherent defense. Every attempt at a counterattack crumbled before it could take shape, as the legionaries always seemed one step ahead, repositioning their forces before the defenders could even predict the next strike.

Mobility was key to the Legion's tactics. Their armored transports, fast and well-armed, allowed them to move quickly from one front to another, supporting assaults where resistance was strongest and reinforcing weak points before the Free Fighters could exploit any gaps. The 25mm machine guns mounted on the vehicles cleared the streets with ease, mowing down the makeshift defenses the masked fighters tried to erect in their desperate defense.

Confusion reigned among the Free Fighters. The Legion's attacks seemed to follow no fixed pattern, making it almost impossible to anticipate their next move. A swift strike in the morning, followed by a false retreat only to return from another angle at nightfall, kept the defenders in a constant state of alert and exhaustion. Morale among the masked fighters plummeted as defenses, one after another, were overcome by the superior tactics and technology of the Legion.

Trying to coordinate an effective defense became a frustrating exercise. Communications were constantly disrupted, whether by previous sabotage or by the lightning attacks that left local leaders with no time to organize their men.

Those attempting to unite the forces of the border towns to stop the Legion's advance found themselves hit by simultaneous attacks that left them scattered and isolated. Defensive positions they thought were solid crumbled under the bombardment of the Legion's mobile artillery, and the legionary vehicles advanced without respite, sowing chaos.

As the battlefield front expanded, both the Legion and the Free Fighters mobilized massive numbers of people. For the Legion, the thousands of captives taken in each skirmish were swiftly sent to the rear, destined for Flagstaff, where they would join the ranks of forced laborers that kept Caesar's war machine running. Convoys of prisoners moved without rest, guarded by centurions and armored soldiers, ensuring no escape from their fates.

On the other side, the Free Fighters and civilians who had not yet fallen under the Legion's yoke fled westward in desperation. The major cities offered the only refuge from the relentless advance of Caesar's troops. Entire families, carrying what little they could, filled the dusty roads, joining the growing stream of terrified migrants. Tales of towns completely destroyed, masked fighters massacred without mercy, and cities in ruins spread quickly, sowing chaos and fear among those attempting to flee.

The Legion's advance wasn't just military, but also psychological.

The artillery bombardments, the unstoppable march of their armored vehicles, and the brutal legionaries instilled terror everywhere they went. The cities in their path knew it was only a matter of time before they too would fall. Those not captured desperately sought to reach the large cities before they were caught in the Legion's crushing grasp.

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