Colonel Ivan Walker went into the kitchen, washed his hands, and made a cup of death-black coffee. He gazed out of the window of General Hoffman’s luxurious penthouse apartment and waited for the expected release. A release that never came.
A crimson sky bled into Golden City’s blood-soaked streets. Spectres of black smoke drifted up from the cadavers of the cars and buses. The corpses of the jeeps and the tanks. The people.
Flames licked and consumed the buildings. Sirens screamed and rocket launchers roared. Machine guns cackled. Helicopters swooped through the skies, black as crows. The pentangle-shaped scar on Walker’s neck burned.
Something slammed against the front door and Walker turned to see Sergeant Duffy stagger into the room, pointing an AK-47. His acne-scarred face glowed.
