They couldn't hold midtown. Between the sickness, the desperation, and the lack of supplies, no one could hold it. And so they pulled back. The JTF left everyone in those neighborhoods to fend for themselves. The First Wave was recalled against their will. And they put up walls to seal everyone in. Everything that's gone wrong, everything that led to Brooklyn, it all stems from that one moment.

Because Ferro's right. The powers that be gave up. They saw an impossible struggle and chose to walk away despite the agony it caused them.

But she's not them.

The ambient heat from the flamethrower raises blisters on her arm. The pain is like a lightning bolt straight down her nerves. "I wasn't here for that," she calls out over the thrum of bullets and the roar of the flames. "But if I was gonna give up, I would have been dead a hundred times over now."

Brooklyn. The warehouse in Chelsea. The checkpoint near Grand Central. WarrenGate. The Waldorf-Astoria.

Lindianne leans out from behind cover, staring defiantly at Ferro. "You're not the only one out of forgiveness." She's never going to be able to let this go. Maybe, in some way, she's never going to be able to move past this moment in time.

But it's a price she'll gladly pay.

The next round she fires, she aims straight for Ferro himself. And the next.

And the next.