The elite Shock Troopers moved like shadows in the night, their camouflaged flak armor glistening under the dim light of the shattered city. With silent precision, they stacked up at the building's entrance, their movements rehearsed to perfection. On command, the breacher placed a shaped charge on the door, and with a deafening boom, it blasted inward. In a flash, the Shock Troopers surged forward, lascarbines raised, sweeping each corner with deadly accuracy. The building’s dim corridors were lit up by the flash of lasfire and the sound of close-quarters combat. They moved as a single, deadly unit, clearing room after room with brutal efficiency. Hostile forces barely had time to react before being cut down. There was no hesitation, no mercy—just the cold, practiced rhythm of professional soldiers.
