2149, Autumn. Chinese Federation, Northern Fortress, top of the defense tower in Area 7.
Long Tian took off his dusty tactical helmet and rubbed the word "dragon" engraved on the inside of the helmet with his fingertips. The rough touch contained his half-life obsession - to protect this planet that was already riddled with holes, and to protect the less than 100,000 human survivors left in the fortress. The wind wrapped the gravel and hit him hard on the face, bringing with it a biting chill. The distant skyline was a strange dark red, like a curtain soaked in blood, slowly approaching the fortress.
