Survival in the last days of America

"Fall back! Fall back!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Brian fired a single shot, dropping the charging rioter. Hearing the distant shout from an officer, he didn't hesitate—he spun around and began sprinting in retreat.

Smoke filled the air across the quarantine zone. The sounds of combat and gunfire echoed in his ears. He dashed toward the passage leading to Central Zone G, spotting a soldier at the checkpoint waving others inside, and instinctively quickened his pace.

But just as Brian was within a few steps of reaching the checkpoint, a rioter suddenly burst out from a side alley. He clutched something in his hands, his face twisted with a fearless, almost suicidal determination, and charged straight toward the entrance.

"Rat-tat-tat-tat!"

The moment the rioter emerged, the soldiers stationed at the checkpoint spotted him. They immediately swung their rifles toward him, opening fire without hesitation.

A storm of bullets tore through the air, but the man showed no fear. Even as a bullet ripped through his arm, his expression didn't change.

With steady hands, he tore open his jacket, revealing a row of cylindrical bombs strapped tightly around his waist.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!"

The squad leader's eyes widened in horror at the sight of the explosives. He turned and screamed at his men, his voice trembling with a fear he didn't even realize he was showing.

But it was too late.

One bullet struck the cluster of bombs at the man's waist.

Whether he died satisfied—knowing so many government soldiers would die with him—or simply because he had fulfilled his mission, the dying man's face twisted into a chilling, triumphant smile.

BOOM!

The bombs detonated in a blinding flash of red light. The entire checkpoint was instantly swallowed by a wave of smoke, dust, and debris. The shockwave hurled Brian backward like a ragdoll. His rifle flew from his hands.

Thud!

He crashed hard onto the pavement. A wave of searing pain surged through his body, nearly knocking him unconscious. It took several long seconds for his senses to return.

Gripping the wall for support, he pushed himself up from the ground, dazed and unsteady. He shook his head violently, slapping his own cheeks to clear the fog in his mind.

The thick smoke ahead began to clear. Brian stared at the destroyed checkpoint—twisted metal and shattered concrete now blocked the path. Around him, he was completely alone. A cold unease settled in his chest.

Suddenly, he felt a dampness at his waist, followed by a sharp, stabbing pain. He looked down and saw that his combat uniform had been torn by some sharp object, and beneath it, a long gash had been carved into his side. Blood was streaming out, soaking through his clothes and pants.

"Damn it!"

He cursed under his breath, pressing a hand tightly over the wound to stop the bleeding. His eyes darted left and right, searching desperately for another route to a different checkpoint.

"Yes! The checkpoint's destroyed!"

"Charge! Kill these government dogs!"

Just as Brian was scanning for an escape, loud shouts erupted from behind him.

His heart skipped a beat. He knew that, in his soldier's uniform, if those rebels caught him, there would be no mercy.

Without thinking, he turned and bolted toward the same alley the suicide bomber had come from.

Every step he took sent a fresh wave of agony through his side. The wound was clearly deep. At first, he tried to endure it, but after only a short distance, his face twisted in pain, teeth gritted. Blood was already seeping through the gaps between his fingers.

But in the face of death, Brian couldn't afford to slow down. Only after he'd entered the alley did he finally allow himself to slow his pace.

Leaning on the wall with one arm, he moved forward, every sense on high alert. His eyes and ears scanned for danger. His hand hovered near his sidearm, ready to draw and fire at the first sign of an enemy.

Shhh… shhh…

Turning at a fork in the alley, Brian saw the path led straight to the street. He felt a flicker of hope—but he hadn't taken more than a few steps when the sound of heavy, chaotic footsteps echoed ahead. And there were many.

He froze. Glancing around, he spotted a low concrete barrier nearby. He ducked behind it, drew his pistol, and cautiously peered around the edge toward the alley's exit.

Just as he hid, six or seven armed rioters emerged onto the street. They carried rifles and knives—and dragged a soldier in full combat gear, seemingly unconscious.

After they passed, Brian waited a few more seconds behind the barrier, ensuring no one else followed. Then, moving silently, he crept forward.

"Please! Don't kill me!"

But as he neared the alley's mouth, a desperate cry pierced the air. He realized the rioters hadn't gone far—they were all gathered around a streetlight on the sidewalk.

The soldier, who had seemed unconscious moments ago, was now awake, his face twisted in terror as he stared at the circle of rebels. He sobbed, begging for his life.

But the rioters ignored his pleas. Their eyes were cold, devoid of pity.

One of them took a rope, climbed the streetlight with practiced ease, and tied a noose at the top. Then he let the loop dangle down.

Seeing the noose, the others grinned cruelly and slipped it over the soldier's head.

"No! No!"

Realizing what was about to happen, the soldier thrashed wildly, trying to escape the noose that would end his life. But his hands and feet were bound. His struggles were useless.

One rebel tightened the knot around the soldier's neck. After checking it was secure, he gave a signal to the man on the light pole.

"Watch this!"

The man shouted, then leapt from the top of the pole.

As the rope snapped taut, the soldier was yanked violently into the air, dangling from the streetlight. The rebel landed safely on the ground.

The others erupted in cheers, watching the soldier kick and twist in the air. Clearly, this wasn't their first time.

When the body finally went still, one of the rioters pulled out a can of spray paint. He ran to the wall beside the streetlight and sprayed a message:

"This is the fate of government dogs!"

Then, a little farther away, he painted a symbol—an insect. It looked like a firefly.

Brian, hidden nearby, couldn't bear to watch any longer. He scanned the nearby cover points, calculating a stealthy path forward. A plan formed in his mind.

Tak-tak-tak!

But just as he was about to move, rapid footsteps echoed from behind—too close. A wave of danger surged through him.

Bang!

Instinctively, Brian whipped his pistol around, aiming blindly behind him. He didn't care if he alerted the others—he pulled the trigger without hesitation.

But in the same instant, a foot slammed into his wrist. The gun flew from his hand, the shot going wide. Before he could react, a long, sharp blade came slashing down toward his head.

Brian twisted his body sideways, barely avoiding the blow. He countered with a powerful kick aimed at his attacker's leg.

But the assailant anticipated it. They lifted their leg, dodging the kick, then lashed out with a brutal kick straight at Brian's face.

"Agh!"

His kick missed, and the force sent a fresh wave of pain through his wounded side. Unable to dodge, Brian crossed his arms to block.

The impact was crushing. His arms buckled, and the kick slammed into his face. He was thrown backward, his head cracking hard against the very barrier he'd used for cover. His vision blurred. The world spun.

Lying on the ground, dazed and disoriented, Brian looked up at his attacker. His vision was hazy—he couldn't make out the face. But he could tell it was a woman. She held a long, slender sword. And around her neck hung a pendant.

Despite the dizziness, he managed to focus for a split second on the symbol etched into the pendant.

It was the same insect he'd just seen painted on the wall.

The fireflies.

The woman placed one foot on Brian's chest, raised her sword high above her head, and looked down at the injured, dazed enemy at her feet. In a cold, steady voice, she spoke:

"Darkness will fade. The Fireflies will forge the future."

And without hesitation, she brought the blade down—straight toward Brian's head.