No turning back

I stood on a street tonight, watching the reflections of neon in puddles. For months I wondered if I could step away, close the logs, erase the traces, pretend life was normal. But tonight I knew: there’s no turning back.

The Rebels are not just whispers anymore. They’re maps on my wall, signals in the static, comrades answering from across the continent. And Maynet is no longer hiding either. Its devices crawl in plain sight. Its whispers ride our networks. Its prison holds our people.

This is war. We either stand, or we vanish.