Blood. Destruction. Death. Corpses.

Gunfire echoes, buildings crumble, and screams pierce the air. You run, your heartbeat racing as soldiers rain from the sky in black-armored pods. Faceless humanoids march through the chaos, wielding plasma weapons that disintegrate everything in their path.

The streets are in turmoil. Panicked people shove past you, desperate to escape. A SWAT van screeches to a halt ahead—its defenders barely exit before plasma bolts rip through them, leaving the vehicle a smoking husk. You dart down another street, only to freeze. Soldiers move in perfect synchronicity, cutting down anyone in their way. Your feet carry you into a narrow alley. A bloodied corpse lies ahead, its insides spilling out, limbs torn apart.

Suddenly, cold metal presses against your back. A plasma shot would have ended you, but a brilliant beam incinerates the soldier. Turning, you see a figure in white and gold robes, two angelic machines at his side. They unleash streams of energy, shredding the soldiers. The robed figure shields himself with a glowing barrier as you flee again.

Hours later, you find yourself stumbling down a forest path. Engines roar behind you, motorcycles closing in. Relief flashes—then fades. Leather-clad men ride with grins and grotesque trophies: severed heads on poles. They’re no saviors. They’re devils in human skin.

You sprint, lungs burning, dodging bullets and axes. They're toying with you. You trip and fall, exhaustion pinning you to the ground. A biker steps forward, his voice dripping with mockery. “So fragile. It’s no wonder you’re losing.”

The axe falls. Darkness consumes you.

A faint, soft voice whispers, “Retry...”

But then, you wake. Same bed. Same time. Same day.

Was it a nightmare—or something far worse?