[Tempelhof, Berlin — 23 August 2013]
The strike-wagon rumbled across the fractured runway, its rune-lanterns hissing in the damp Berlin dusk. Meredith Blackwood—Astrid, by the mission manifest—sat sideways on a metal bench inside, helmet resting between her knees. Through the open rear doors, the grey carcass of Tempelhof Airport blurred past, a derelict titan swallowed by weeds and graffiti.
Rain slicked the cracked tarmac, fine mist rising like spirits from the ground. Meredith watched the droplets bead and roll, the motion grounding her against the nervous weight gathering inside her ribs.
Her first mission as an S-Rank. Her first time leading a live clear.
Across from her, Dieter Neubauer, their Assault specialist, slapped a magnetic rune onto the wagon's door with a grin. "First dance as an S, Sternchen. Don't blink, or you'll miss the fun."
