You leave the confines of your dropship accompanied by your comrades who’ve fought just as hard to save what couldn’t be saved.
Transhuman Soldiers and Civil Protectors assorted between one another step into the bowels of a monolith known to many as the Citadel.
The floor is cold, and so are the walls.
An alien alloy coats your surroundings, Elite soldiers observe your every move, pained screams of Stalkers resonate throughout the corridors, but…
You feel calm.
You feel at home.
You feel safe.
Firearms bruised and battered, swiftly deposited into fabricators to be repurposed, just like you will soon find your new purpose.
Squadmates, friends, enemies, quickly shuffled into different facilities of the unfamiliar halls.
Some rest.
Some rejoice.
Some never return.
Protectors ascended into Grunts.
Grunts ascended into Soldiers.
The machine does not cease, it never will.
You look out a window. The Alps.
A beautiful landscape shrouded by thick clouds of dark smoke coming from the heart of Geneva.
A city in ruin, and despair.
Its struggle to stay afloat has only just begun.
On your way to the bunks, you see a propaganda poster of ‘The Protectorate’.
WE. STILL. PREVAIL.
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