The morning air outside the MOA Complex was crisp, the salt in the wind carried in from the bay. Thomas stepped out onto the upper-level catwalk, boots tapping against the steel grating as he looked over the reclaimed airfield.
It was hard still hard to believe this used to be parking lots, malls, and roads.
Now, it was something else entirely—runways carved into the concrete sea, reinforced hangars repurposed from sports centers, and landing pads drawn with military precision. This wasn't just a fortified civilian zone anymore.
It was a warbase.
Phillip joined him a second later, sipping from a thermos of that "illegal" brewed coffee they'd found last night.
"Didn't think we'd ever pull this off," Phillip muttered, nodding toward the long stretch of tarmac where the aircraft were lined like sleeping predators.
Thomas said nothing at first. He just stared.
