Inside the Sky-Fortress
Ironwing's rusty jetpack sputters, but it carries you, the inventor, and the bus driver up through a hatch in the fortress's belly. Inside, glowing corridors hum with strange music.
At the heart of it all sits a small pilot in an oversized chair—a child, alone, light-years from home. Tears shine on their cheeks as drones obey their trembling hands.
This isn't an invasion, you realize. It's a cry for help.