December 8, 2044. The date stared back at him from the terminal screen, cold and impersonal, landing on his nerves like a silent hammer blow. Holy s**t. He"d been so swamped he"d completely forgotten. It was his birthday. He was nineteen. But December 8th… the date itself was a brand seared into the collective memory of his entire generation. Nineteen years ago today, Russian steel tides had once again rolled across the Polish border, the opening act of World War III playing out in the blood and fire of Old Europe. For David personally, the date meant more. In the chaotic week that followed that beginning, he and his mother had received an official notice in a cheap paper envelope: "Missing, Presumed Dead." His father, part of the first rapid deployment force thrown into the meat grinder,
