The house was quiet, empty. The front door stood ajar, allowing for the occasional gust of cool autumn air to swirl leaves and debris into the silent living room. In the basement, a thin layer of dust had settled upon the worktable and the broken equipment and fragments of glass on the ground.
The once electrified fencing of the Quarantine Zone hummed no longer, and in some places it hung askew, posts bent or broken altogether.
For better or worse, the resistance was over.