Alone in the Chaos.

The streets are a nightmare, burning cars scattered like broken toys, their metal frames twisted and smoldering, sending thick plumes of black smoke into the night air. 

The once-bustling stores are nothing but shattered windows and crumbling facades. The city is dead, or at least, it feels like it.

Lucian stumbles through the wreckage, each step a fight to stay on his feet. His head is pounding, blood dripping down his face, stinging his eyes. His helmet is gone, lost in the madness, leaving him exposed—vulnerable.

The sound of approaching footsteps breaks through the chaos, sharp and relentless. Figures emerge from the shadows—more than one, too many to count. Masked, faceless, like vultures closing in on their prey.

Lucian's vision flickers, the blood clouding his sight, but he knows they're coming. He can feel them getting closer, their steps echoing louder with every heartbeat. His body shakes, his fingers slick against the grip of his gun, but he raises it anyway. His hands tremble as he tries to focus, the weight of the weapon unbearable.

"Stay back!" Lucian screams, his voice cracked, raw. His own words barely make it out through his dry throat. His heart is racing, his chest tight. Panic threatens to take over, but he can't let it. He can't break now.

"I'll shoot! I'll fucking shoot!" His words barely even sound like his own. His finger shakes on the trigger, but he's barely holding it together. The blood from his head stings his eyes again, and he wipes it away, desperate for clarity. But there's nothing. Nothing but the burning buildings, the twisted wreckage, and the cold figures moving in on him.

"Stay the fuck back!" Lucian's voice cracks again, panic surging through him like wildfire. He's losing it, he knows it. His legs are giving out, his breath is shallow, and his grip on the gun is slipping.

More footsteps. They're everywhere now—circling him. The figures move in, fast and silent. He's surrounded, no way out. His body is betraying him, every muscle screaming in agony. He can feel the weight of the blood soaking through his clothes, the tremors running through him.

And then, they're too close. Lucian can't move anymore. The figures are almost upon him, their hands reaching, their presence suffocating. His breath is ragged, his vision nearly gone.

"Please... don't..." Lucian's voice barely whispers through his cracked lips, but they're already too close, the darkness closing in around him. His gun hangs limp in his hand, useless now.

The world goes silent—except for the sound of his heartbeat, thundering in his ears as the first hand grabs his arm.

Hours before the clash

"We interrupt our regular programming to bring you breaking news from the heart of the city..."

A mass of people filled the streets, many holding signs with bold, angry letters demanding change. The air looked tense, but for now, it remained peaceful.

"Thousands have gathered today to protest the soaring prices of basic goods. Over the past month, the cost of food has risen dramatically, leaving many families unable to afford essentials. The unrest has been fueled further by growing tensions over the government's handling of refugees from the neighboring country of Toura."

The camera zoomed in on a few protesters holding signs that read "We Can't Afford to Live" and "Feed Our Children, Not Your Wars." Some banners bore more ominous slogans: "No Refugees, No Peace" and "Justice for Abram Klean."

The anchor continued, her tone serious yet composed. "Prime Minister Harold Mant addressed the nation earlier today, defending the government's position. He stated, 'It is necessary to maintain the quality of life, but people need to understand the war in the neighboring country of Toura has torn our economy in half. We need to remain at peace and work together on a plan.'"

The camera cut back to the square, where groups of protesters chanted in unison, their voices echoing off the surrounding buildings. A young woman at the front of the crowd spoke into a megaphone, urging calm and unity.

"While the protest remains peaceful at the moment," the anchor added, "authorities fear it could escalate into violence. Tensions have been especially high since the tragic killing of eight-year-old Abram Klean last week, an incident that has sparked outrage across the nation. Many citizens blame the influx of refugees for rising crime, while others accuse the government of failing to protect its people."

Lucian sat on the worn-out couch, absently scrolling through his phone. His shoulders slouched as if weighed down by the tension in the air. The distant sounds of the city filtered through the cracked window—car horns blaring, voices shouting, life carrying on despite the growing unrest.

"Oh my God, people are going crazy, don't you think, Lucian?" his mother said, stepping into the room. Her voice carried a mixture of concern and frustration. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm but comforting.

"Well, yeah, and it's possible that I'm going too," he muttered, glancing up at her with a faint smirk.

She frowned, stepping away and placing a small cake on the table. "No, you're not going." Her voice was resolute. "Look at me."

Lucian hesitated, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. His mother's eyes were sharp, brimming with a fierce determination he knew all too well.

"You're on leave—a leave they said you need to take," she continued. "So if they call you, I'm going to tell them to go to hell!"

Despite the seriousness of her tone, Lucian couldn't help but chuckle. "Don't be that mad, Mom. The girl's almost here. Let's get this bad energy away." He reached for the remote, turning off the TV.

But his mother wasn't done. She moved closer, placing her hands gently on either side of his face, her expression softening but remaining firm. "Lucian, I'm not joking." Her voice was quiet now, almost a whisper, but it carried more weight than before. "Two months ago, how many policemen died?"

Lucian's smile faded. He knew where this was going, and he didn't want to answer. But he also knew he couldn't avoid it. "Eight, Mom."

"Yes, eight, Lucian. And six of them were in your unit. Those two got burned alive by the madness of the people. So if they call, you are staying home. Home, where we celebrate your sister's birthday, okay?"

For a moment, there was silence between them, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Then Lucian gave a small nod, a faint smile returning to his lips. "Okay."

"Okay," she echoed, pulling him into a tight embrace.

They held each other for a long moment, the tension easing just a little, replaced by the warmth of family and the promise of a moment's peace—however brief it might be.

But unknown to his mother, Lucian's phone had been buzzing relentlessly with messages and missed calls from his station, urgently requesting his immediate presence. 

He looked at his phone, his eyes briefly scanning the screen. The only green signal was active, indicating that the protest was still under control and peaceful. Yet, the barrage of messages and missed calls left him confused. Why was he receiving so many notifications? He didn't understand the urgency. But before he could dwell on it, his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden rush of his little sister, Erika, stomping into the room and jumping straight into his lap.

"Lucian, it's my birthday!" she exclaimed, her bright smile lighting up her face.

"Yeah, it is," he replied, his tone warm.

"So where's my present?" she asked eagerly, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

Lucian laughed, looking into her deep blue eyes. "Just like that, straight to the gift?" he teased.

Before she could respond, their mother called out from the kitchen, "Before the gift, eat! Come here, honey."

With a small laugh, Lucian moved to the table, gently picking up Erika and helping her settle down. But before they could even start their meal, the door swung open again, and Lucian's older sister stormed in.

"I'm here!" she shouted, a gift wrapped neatly in her hands.

"Anna!" Erika immediately launched herself toward her older sister, but their mother grabbed her by the arm and stopped her in her tracks.

"Eat!" their mother commanded gently, and Erika immediately obeyed, sitting down at the table.

"What took you so long to get here?" Lucian asked, noticing Anna's slightly rushed appearance.

"Don't even mention it," Anna said, a hint of frustration in her voice. "A thousand people marched toward the city center." She looked at her mother, who immediately turned her attention to Lucian, her gaze sharp.

Lucian, still distracted, was talking to Erika, not fully aware of the growing tension.

The family continued eating, the conversation flowing around the table, light and casual. Lucian's mother asked about his work, Erika chattered about her birthday wishes, and Anna mentioned the chaos outside with the marchers. But despite the normalcy, the air around Lucian was thick with unspoken tension.

 His phone, still buzzing incessantly in his pocket, felt like an unwelcome weight against his side.

He ignored it, not wanting to disrupt the moment with his family. But the notifications just kept coming. The longer it went on, the more uncomfortable he felt. He shifted slightly in his seat, but still kept his phone out of sight.

"I'll check what's going on," Anna said suddenly, her voice firm. 

Lucian glanced at his mother, who gave him a simple nod. "Yeah, just give it to her," she said calmly.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to Anna. As soon as she took it, the situation changed. Her expression, which had been light just moments ago, shifted dramatically. Her face turned pale, her eyes narrowing as she read the notifications.

Her fingers froze on the screen, her brows furrowing deeply.

"What is it?" Lucian asked, suddenly on edge as the mood around the table shifted. The usual light-hearted chatter died down, and the once cheerful atmosphere became suffused with unease.

Anna didn't answer right away. She just stared at the phone, her lips slightly parted, her face growing more serious by the second. 

Anna's hand shook slightly as she read the message, her face paling even further. The screen of Lucian's phone displayed a red alert, a message that made her blood run cold.

URGENT: RED ALERT

Injured officers reported. All available units must immediately report to the station.

Lucian's heart skipped a beat as the words sank in. He could feel the atmosphere shift instantly, the weight of the message pressing down on him. Everything around him—the dinner, the celebration—felt like it was slipping away.

His hands tightened into fists. Without saying anything more, he grabbed his jacket, his thoughts already racing. It was time to leave.

Lucian's mother grabbed his hand tightly, her grip firm but trembling. "Please don't…" she whispered, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. She clung to his arm as though her grip alone could keep him safe, could stop him from walking out that door and into danger.

Lucian froze for a moment, the weight of her words and her fear anchoring him in place. He looked down at her, his heart aching. He had seen this look before—the silent, desperate plea of a mother who feared she might lose her child.

Behind them, Anna crouched next to Erika, who was now holding her sister's hand tightly. In a quiet, unsure voice, Erika asked, "What's happening?" Her innocent eyes were wide, filled with confusion and concern. She didn't understand why the atmosphere had changed so suddenly, didn't understand why Lucian had to leave in such a rush.

She couldn't understand that out there, Lucian could die.

Lucian knelt down in front of Erika, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. His voice was soft but steady as he tried to reassure her, though deep down he knew there were no words that could truly make her feel safe. "It's okay, Erika. I just need to go help some people. I'll be back soon, alright?"

"But… you promised," she said, her voice trembling. "You promised to stay for my birthday."

Lucian swallowed hard, guilt settling heavily in his chest. He forced a small smile, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. "I know, and I will. I'll be back before you know it. Just listen to Mom and Anna, okay?"

His mother's grip tightened again. "Lucian, please…" she whispered one last time, her voice barely audible.

He met her eyes, filled with worry and fear, and gave her a reassuring nod. "I'll be careful, Mom. I promise."

Without another word, he gently pulled his arm free, standing tall once more. He knew that leaving now wasn't just a duty—it was a risk. A risk he had to take. He opened the door, the cold air rushing in, as he stepped outside into the unknown.

As Lucian left, the door closed behind him with a heavy thud, echoing in the tense silence of the room. His mother stood frozen for a moment, staring at the door as if willing it to reopen, hoping he would change his mind and return. But he didn't.

With trembling hands, she quickly turned on the television, switching to a news channel. Her worst fears were confirmed in an instant. The screen showed chaos unfolding in the streets—what had earlier been a peaceful protest had devolved into a violent clash.

Rocks, Molotov cocktails, and fireworks were being hurled at the police. Smoke and fire filled the air as riot officers struggled to hold the line. In one horrifying moment, the camera captured a scene that burned itself into her mind: a riot officer, engulfed in flames, writhing on the ground while his comrades desperately tried to extinguish the fire. Before they could fully put it out, a group of protesters rushed at them, beating them with whatever they could find.

Her heart stopped, and in that instant, her legs gave way beneath her. She fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably, clutching at her chest as if trying to stop it from shattering.

Anna, who had been watching in stunned silence, quickly picked up Erika, who was now visibly frightened by her mother's reaction. She carried her little sister to the bedroom, gently placing her on the bed. "Stay here for a bit, okay?" she said softly, brushing Erika's hair back in a soothing gesture. Erika didn't protest, though tears welled in her eyes as she clung to a pillow.

Anna hurried back to the living room, where her mother knelt on the floor, overwhelmed by fear and despair. Without hesitation, Anna wrapped her arms tightly around her, holding her as she trembled. "Everything's going to be okay, Mom," Anna whispered, trying to sound strong, though her own voice wavered. "Lucian is strong. He'll be fine."

But her mother didn't respond. She just sobbed quietly, her tears falling endlessly. Deep down, she knew the truth—Lucian's unit was the frontline unit, the one sent to charge headfirst into the chaos. The unit that always faced the most danger.

Anna tightened her grip around her mother, whispering words of comfort even as fear gnawed at her heart. All they could do now was wait and hope—hope that Lucian would come back to them in one piece