August 22nd. Tijuana, Mexico. 16:39. PST
Tijuana, Mexico. A city formerly riddled with crime and human trafficking. In recent years, these problems started to diminish and peace seemed to return to the city. Unfortunately, this all changed when the Zlocu arrived and ravaged everything. But now, the city looks worse than the Zlocan takeover, half of the city is deserted and half of the buildings gone, with explosions holes, rubbles and bodies scattered across the streets A battle is raging on between the Zlocan troops and various rebels which have launched an uprising against the former.
The streets filled with militias and gangs banding together against Zlocan occupation with everything they have. The odor of gas fills most of the streets from the destroyed vehicles, the air being a huge cacophony of gunfire, explosions and hellish screams that many won't ever, ever forget.
And even so, things are looking grim for the rebels. The technologically advanced forces of the Zlocu are pushing them back hard, driving some into quickly surrendering to them, others fighting bitterly until their last breath. Whether it was because they're holding for the hope of their city being free one day or not is another matter.
And even if it will be free later on, will it recover the beauty it once had?
In Libertad neighborhood, between an armed school and pair of destroyed building blocks, a huge firefight between a Zlocan battalion and a militia is happening. A Zlocan Walker is opening fire on a block where thirty-five rebels are hiding and taking cover in it. There are enough walls from the blocks to give the rebels enough time to take cover from the fire, all while dodging the ruble and grazing laser blasts in each angle.
One such soldier is a man with Reddish short hair, squinting hazel eyes and a fair skin tone worthy of any beautiful Latino, wearing a heavily armored vest while strafing at the Zlocans with his G3 rifle through a wall.
"Laureano! You'd better provide some nice lead to the Zlocs out there!" a feminine voice says. A woman with brown, straight hair, round amber eyes, set charmingly within their sockets and a scar reaching from the right side of the forehead. It runs towards the left side of her lips and ends on her upper lip. A fearsome warrior it seems.
"What?! There's enough shit to care of with our weapons already, Amanda!" he says while continuing to cover fire to their troops.
"Make way please, we won't last long if we waste all of our ammo!" a male soldier says.
"But how do we outsmart those idiots without wasting our precious ammo!?" an elderly officer replies.
"I don't know, pull grenades out of our asses?!" Amanda replies as she growls under her breath.
"They don't do shit anyway, better to pick those spicy bottles but still don't do shit!" Laureano replies.
"Then let's find some good shit to use!"
As they continued to cover fire, Amanda stops for a second while going to check on something with her rifle near her hip, briefly glancing at the emptiness of the building while trying to shift her attention away from the fire and while trying to make her eardrums as resistant as they can from the noises.
"Hold...Hold your fire!"
"Amanda!?" Laureano asks bafflingly
"Trust me! I said hold your fire! I know what to do with this! And trust me...it will be the useful shit you've been looking for."
"All men, hold your fire!" the elderly officer orders as he raises his hand to signal the troops. They all comply with it, causing the entire zone to be silent once more.
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