The political purge has begun.
The war room at the GBDC headquarters is packed.
I sit at the head of the table. I am still wearing the thermal blanket over my tactical gear, an IV drip stand rolled up beside my chair. My face is pale, my lips slightly blue, but my posture is rigid, my chin held high.
To my right sits Lyra, her arm heavily bandaged, her amber eyes flashing with feral, unyielding loyalty. To my left is Morgan, her fingers flying across the tactical console, bringing up the encrypted files of the UN’s Extraterrestrial Materials Command.
On the holographic projection, the faces of General Croft and Secretary-General Lin appear. They look grim, the harsh lighting of their respective command centers casting deep shadows on their faces.
"Luna Isla," Lin begins, his voice tre
