Sarah and her father never had the chance to reconcile. During the first wave of attacks the night of the Invasion, she was hiding in the lower level of a parking garage with strangers while her childhood home was incinerated; her father and brothers trapped inside. By the time she managed to get home, nothing was left but ash and charred bodies.
Sarah inhaled sharply and pushed the thoughts of that night out of her mind. Over the subsequent weeks, many more people died as Thrax patrols scoured the area for survivors. Alicia didn´t make it. No one she knew did. As far as she could tell, that life and the people who were in it were gone forever. Today, not even two years later, Sarah Morrison was a Sergeant in the AFS, on her way to infiltrate a Bane outpost. Her goal was to push the bastards back a few steps. Every inch of ground she covered was another inch closer to home. Every Bane base she helped overtake and every Bane she killed was a step closer to freedom. She tossed dirt on the glowing embers, snuffing out their warmth, and checked her rifle before slinging it, and her blade, over her shoulder. "No rest for the wicked," she thought as a smirk spread across her face. Indeed, there would be no rest for any of them for quite a while.
