The journey to Roswell was a blur of preparation and quiet contemplation. Seth Roth, the resident genius of the resistance, spent hours recalibrating BJ’s suit. “You are a miracle of biology and engineering, William,” Seth would say, his hands moving with frantic precision. “Don’t go breaking yourself before we finish the job.”
As the Eva’s Hammer submerged, the vibrations of the massive engines echoed through BJ’s bones. He thought of his unborn twins, of the world he wanted them to inherit. He wasn't fighting for glory, and he certainly wasn't fighting for the old world—that world was gone, buried under swastikas and concrete. He was fighting for the next world.
On the bridge of the stolen U-boat, Grace Walker was barking orders. She was the fire to BJ’s steel, a revolutionary who had survived the atomic blast in New York and spent the years since sharpening her rage into a blade. “We don’t just take the country back,” she told the gathered crew, her eyes scanning the holographic map of the continental US. “We burn the Reich out of every corner of it. We make them realize that America isn't a place on a map—it’s the people who refuse to kneel.” Wolfenstein II The New Colossus Switch NSP Up...
The first strike was set for Roswell. The Nazis had turned the desert town into a high-security research hub, hiding their most twisted technological horrors behind the facade of a quiet Americana town. BJ would go in undercover, a fireman carrying a nuclear warhead in a lunchbox.
BJ looked out the porthole at the stars. “We started it,” he corrected. “Now we finish it.” The journey to Roswell was a blur of
BJ looked up. His face was a map of scars, a testament to a decade of fighting a war that the rest of the world had already surrendered. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he grunted, the mechanical joints of his suit whirring as he stood.
BJ didn't hide. He didn't need to. He stepped out of the shadows, his dual-wielded Schockhammers roaring. The recoil would have shattered a normal man’s shoulders, but the suit absorbed the shock, turning BJ into a walking turret. He was a whirlwind of lead and fury, carving a path through the reinforcements. “Don’t go breaking yourself before we finish the job
The explosion wasn't just a blast of heat and light; it was a signal. From the streets of New Orleans to the ruins of DC, the resistance saw the mushroom cloud rising over the desert. The New Colossus had arrived, and it was made of fire.