"Here Is the Heart of the Empire"

Thud, thud, thud—

Heavy, powerful footsteps echoed through the dim Metro tunnel, every step like a hammer striking people's fragile heartstrings.

The sound grew clearer and clearer, as though an army was rapidly closing in.

The survivors present were still utterly shaken by Tyrant's appearance.

They had thought death was inevitable, that Tyrant would raise its massive armored hand the next second and crush them all like insects.

But reality was otherwise. Tyrant merely stood silently outside the shattered doorway, like an unmoving steel statue.

Just as questions arose in everyone's hearts, the footsteps steadily grew louder, their oppressive presence even more suffocating than Tyrant's silence.

All the SWAT officers and veteran policemen instinctively raised their guns again, though their palms were already soaked with cold sweat.

They knew perfectly well that they were powerless against the Tyrant before them. Now that another presence had arrived, resistance was utterly meaningless, yet they still dared not put down the only weapons they had.

At last, the owners of those footsteps appeared.

A group of figures clad in trench coat-style combat uniforms filed in. Their steps were perfectly synchronized and clearly paced, like ruthless Gears of War.

In the dim light, the metallic gleam on their helmets was sharp as blades. Dragon-patterned insignias were set where their chest armor joined their shoulder guards, every illuminated line cold and forbidding.

They were not any military force the survivors recognized, but an armed unit none of them had ever seen before.

Then, a soldier wearing a dark crimson-painted helmet stepped out from the ranks.

His steps were heavy and imposing, every one carrying an irresistible pressure. The monitors over his eyes glowed a dim red in the darkness, like a pair of cold, hard mechanical eyes mercilessly sweeping over every corner of the shelter.