GATE: Thus Democracy was Called [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter 2: Battle of Manhattan

Above the chaos of Manhattan, the sleek silhouette of the AH-X9 Attack Helicopter cut through the sky. Inside the cockpit, the pilot, focused on his target – a massive Wyvern, its wings casting ominous shadows over the buildings below. The creature was unlike anything in her training, but his mission was clear.

"Eagle One to base, I've got eyes on the target. Engaging now," he reported, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

With practiced precision, the pilot maneuvered the helicopter, lining up his shot. The Wyvern turned, its reptilian eyes locking onto the AH-X9. The pilots finger hovered over the trigger. "Come on..." he muttered.

As the Wyvern lunged towards him, he fired. Missiles streaked from the AH-X9, trailing smoke and fury. They struck the Wyvern mid-flight, the explosion echoing through the city. The creature plummeted, crashing into a deserted building in a burst of flames and debris.

"Target down," the pilot said, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "Eagle One moving to assist ground forces."

On the streets, the battle raged on. A pilot, encased in the formidable EX-5 Mechanized Power Armor. Its automatic cannons, integrated into the arms, blazed as he mowed down the advancing soldiers from the other world. The armor's enhanced targeting system turned each shot into a lethal dance of precision and power.

The mech advanced, the cannons roaring. An enemy soldier, clad in ancient armor, charged at him with a raised sword. The spear did nothing to the metal armor. Without missing a beat, the pilot knocked the soldier down with a swift blow. The enemy lay dazed on the ground, looking up at the mechanized giant.

With a cold efficiency, the pilot brought the mech's down his foot, the hydraulics in the mechanized power armor amplifying the force. The soldier screamed as the  skull gave way under the immense pressure, a grisly end to a lopsided duel.

"Tango down," the pilot reported emotionlessly. "Pushing forward."

In another part of the Manhattan, the rumble of the M1X Abrams Tank was a harbinger of destruction. A sergeant gripped the controls, navigating the behemoth through the urban jungle. The tank's main gun thundered, sending shells into the ranks of the invading forces.

As the tank rolled down Fifth Avenue, the sergeant focused on the path ahead, unaware of the enemy soldier who had unwittingly found himself in the tank's path. The soldier, in a desperate attempt to avoid the crushing treads, stumbled and fell.

Inside the tank, the sergeant felt a slight bump and heard a groan, barely noticeable amidst the chaos. Unbeknownst to him, the tank's treads had caught the soldier, dragging him along. The screams were lost in the cacophony of battle.

"Target in sight, engaging now," the sergeant communicated, his attention fixed on a group of enemies barricading further down the street. The tank's gun roared again, oblivious to the tragedy under its treads.

Meanwhile the atmosphere among the NYPD officers stationed at Queensboro Bridge was tense, a mix of fear and determination. After holding the line against the bizarre invasion, they finally received the order they had been waiting for.

"Alright, team, we've got the green light!" barked the Sergeant, a seasoned officer who had seen his share of crises but nothing like this. "Advance and detain! Remember, these are uncharted waters. Stay sharp!"

The officers, clad in riot gear, moved in formation. They advanced cautiously into the city, their eyes scanning for any sign of the enemy soldiers.

Officer Martinez, alongside his partner, Officer Lee, maneuvered through the streets, their senses on high alert. They spotted a group of the invading soldiers, looking disoriented and overwhelmed by the city's landscape.

"Police! Drop your weapons!" Martinez shouted, his rifle trained on the group.

The soldiers, clad in archaic armor and holding shields and swords, seemed to hesitate, their eyes darting around in confusion.

"Don't think they understand English, man," Lee whispered, gripping his baton tightly.

"Doesn't matter. We have to bring them in," replied Martinez, moving forward cautiously.

The officers approached the group, using hand signals to indicate they should kneel and surrender. Surprisingly, the soldiers complied, dropping their weapons and kneeling on the ground.

"Got a group in custody," Lee radioed in. "Seems like they're complying... for now."

As they handcuffed the soldiers, Officer Martinez couldn't help but wonder about the absurdity of the situation. He was arresting men who looked like they had stepped out of a history book, in the middle of Manhattan.

"Never thought I'd see the day," he muttered to Lee, who just nodded in agreement.

The surreal task of arresting these out-of-time soldiers continued, the NYPD working alongside the military to contain the threat. The city, a symbol of modernity, had become a battleground for an invasion from another time, another world.

After the harrowing events in Manhattan, Scott Mason found himself in Queens, far enough from the immediate danger but still within the grasp of uncertainty. He needed to know if his family was safe, particularly his mother, who lived alone in the city.

Fishing his phone from his pocket, he dialed his mother's number. His heart raced as the phone rang, each tone stretching into eternity. The possibility that she might have been caught in the initial chaos gnawed at him, filling him with a dread he hadn't felt even on the battlefield.

The phone continued to ring, unanswered. Scott's grip tightened around the device, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Just as he was about to hang up and try again, there was a click, and then a long, unsettling silence.

"Mom?" Scott's voice was tense, laced with both hope and fear.

The silence stretched on, amplifying Scott's anxiety. He could hear his own heartbeat, loud in his ears. The thought that he might have lost her, that he was too late, was unbearable.

Then, finally, a voice broke through the silence, weak but unmistakably his mother's. "Scott? Scott, is that you?"

A wave of relief washed over Scott, so intense it left him momentarily breathless. "Yes, Mom, it's me. Are you okay? Where are you?"

His mother's voice was shaky but filled with relief. "I'm at home, Scott. I'm okay. I saw the news, the chaos in the city... I was so worried about you."

Scott let out a sigh, the tension in his body easing slightly. "I'm okay, Mom. I'm in Queens now. It's safer here. Stay inside, lock the doors. I'll come to get you as soon as I can."

"Be careful, Scott. Please," his mother pleaded, her voice tinged with the fear only a parent could feel.

"I will, Mom. I promise. Just stay safe until I get there." Scott ended the call, a newfound determination settling in him. He needed to ensure his mother's safety, and for that, he had to navigate a city turned warzone.