Rising Flames: The Great Fire

April 1, 2027, Penghu, Magong City Waterfront

The sun bakes the beach hot, and the sea looks like a sheet of quiet blue glass. You lie on a folding chair, a beer can in your hand dripping with condensation, with the distant sound of children building sandcastles.

Then the sky tears open.

There is no warning—the sound isn't thunder, but a low, fabric-tearing roar pressing down from the northwest. You look up and see countless black dots emerging from the clouds, rapidly growing larger, turning into ugly metal silhouettes. Transport planes, dense and packed, blotting out the sun.

Parachutes bloom like dandelions, white and green, carrying heavy cargo and soldiers. You freeze, until the first shell explodes not far away, shrapnel-like sand stinging your face.

"Get down!!" someone screams in Chinese, their voice panicked and hoarse.

You drop your beer and instinctively dive into a depression in the sand. Explosions ring out one after another, and the air raid siren finally wails, but it's pointless. A low-flying Z-10 attack helicopter sweeps over your head, the downdraft from its rotors nearly knocking you over. You catch a glimpse of the pilot's tense jawline in the cockpit.

The sea is no longer blue—it is dyed a dark red by the firelight.

You huddle behind the concrete breakwater, your heart practically leaping out of your throat. The smoke makes your eyes water and your ears ring, yet you can still make out sporadic gunfire in the distance.

A hand suddenly grabs your shoulder. You spin around to see a young face burning with murderous intent. He is about 185 cm tall, wearing Starry Sky camouflage, his tactical vest loaded with magazines, his eyes sharp as an eagle's. The nameplate on his chest reads: Chen Feng.

"Are you a civilian? Why are you still here?" His voice is calm, but he speaks incredibly fast.

You stammer out an explanation that you're a tourist. He frowns, quickly scans the surroundings, and nods to you: "Come with me. This place is about to become a meat grinder."

Behind him are several other fully armed soldiers, one of whom is whispering into a tablet on his wrist. You see the screen is filled with red friend-or-foe identification symbols.

—A gray drone silently appears above the breakwater, its dark camera lens pointing directly at you.

Chen Feng reacts instantly, pinning you to the ground while raising his weapon to fire a burst at the drone. The small drone nimbly swerves to avoid it and vanishes over the sea.

"Recon drone, we've been spotted," a soldier curses. Before his voice even fades, a sharp whistling sound echoes from the distant horizon.

"Mortars!" Chen Feng roars, dragging you by your life jacket toward a half-ruined concrete building. Just as you burst through the door, the beach behind you is repeatedly hammered by an invisible giant mallet, sending plumes of sand into the sky.

You slump in the corner, your breath tasting of blood. Chen Feng hands you a first-aid kit, then crouches by the door, observing through infrared binoculars. He turns back, looking at you expressionlessly:

"Two choices: One, come with us. We're retreating north to find the main force, but you'll slow us down on the way. Two, head to the fishing port in the southwest corner. There might be fishing boats that can get you off Penghu. But there's already fighting over there. Your choice."

The sky outside the window is dyed dark red by the artillery fire. Your hands are shaking, but you know that silence is also a choice.