It was the quietest, most imperceptible sound, just a dull thud under his body. The concrete seemed to bounce and roll beneath the wooden pallet he was sleeping on.
   David shook his head awake. What had he been dreaming of? The ache in his heart suggested something not worth focusing on.
   Rising quickly to his feet, his whole self shuddered in response to a yawn. His clothing still sweaty and filthy from the ordeal the night before, he scooped up the high powered rifle and jogged up and out from the bunker's sleeping area to see if anyone could tell him what had caused the shockwave.
   The area above was in chaos. People, faces he knew and faces he didn't know charged about screaming. Something bad had gone here.
   David grabbed hold of a lad running past him and spun him around.
  'What happened!?' David barked at the boy. Grimey saliva gumming up his lips. The boy blinked back at him.
   'It's the Duke! There was a detail sent from the army, to try and help out, and Webb has gone out to meet them! I don't know what happened, but there were shots, and now the army are retreating.'
   David's heart sank. Finally Webb had gone too far. His self styled name 'The Duke' came from an early campaign against the dragons, where he led a bunch of urbanites and traders to safety during a firestorm.
   After suffering heavy losses, the armed forces began handing power to battle ready civilians, in an attempt to staunch mass panic. That was two years ago. The 'duke' now controlled the Wharf with nothing short of imperial concern for his own power. David had known the day would come when Webb would challenge what was left of the government, the pattern of behaviour synonymous with warlords throughout the whole of human history.
   Now the day had come. And it was David's unfortunate position to be fighting for the wrong leader.

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