Kill or Be Killed
Julian kept his gun steady in his hands.
He crouched behind a mound of icy stone, breathing slow and measured, forcing himself to stay calm. The faint hum of the nearby gate echoed behind him, glowing like a silent warning in the snow-covered stillness.
He had been told it would draw attention. That was already proving true.
Julian picked his position carefully—close enough to shut the gate in case of emergency, but far enough to retreat if something burst through unexpectedly. The enclave's safety was on the line, and he wouldn't be the one to let it fall.
For the first twenty minutes, nothing happened.
No sounds. No movement. Just the eerie quiet of an untouched winter forest.
Then, a soft pulse flickered on the device strapped to his arm.
The glow shifted from green to amber, slow and rhythmic.
Julian leaned forward.
A second later, Harris's voice crackled through the receiver.
"Kid, something's about to happen," Harris said. His voice was steady, but heavier than usual.
"The color pattern is warning us. Be ready for anything. And… please protect my daughter."
Julian's chest tightened as the weight of that request sank in.
He adjusted his grip on the weapon and squinted into the distance, scanning every tree and shadow.
That's when he saw them.
Three small figures.
At first, they were just dark shapes in the white haze.
But they moved quickly.
Too quickly.
Julian felt his stomach twist.
He reached for the receiver again.
"Sir," he said, voice low but firm. "I see something out there—three shapes. Still far, but they're moving fast and closing in. I can clearly make them out now."
There was a pause.
Then Harris answered.
"Don't panic. Stay sharp. Count the seconds, and wait for the next signal. I'll let you know if anything changes."
Julian nodded, even though Harris couldn't see him.
He began counting under his breath.
One… two… three…
The figures grew clearer with every passing second.
Julian swallowed hard.
They were human—at least by shape.
But they weren't wearing enclave suits. Their armor looked makeshift, cobbled together from different materials.
Scraps of metal.
Old leather.
Mismatched gear with no sign of coordination or insignia.
"Three men," Julian reported, his voice controlled.
"They're coming toward me fast. I don't recognize their gear. What should I do?"
He raised the weapon slowly, keeping it trained in their direction.
His hands were trembling slightly now, but he kept his finger just outside the trigger guard.
Harris came back on the line.
"Hold your position," he said, his tone clipped but serious.
"Team A just signaled. They're close. Three colors—Emma's with them. Count to forty. If they don't arrive by then, fall back and shut the gate…"
Julian took a deep breath and nodded again, counting slowly in his head.
He could hear his own heartbeat, thudding like war drums behind his ribs.
Each second passed like a minute.
And those three men were still coming.
Leaving was an option.
Julian could have run, hidden deeper, even escaped through the gate if he acted fast enough.
But something inside told him it wasn't the right move.
Not yet.
He considered calling out to the men—maybe they weren't hostile. Maybe they were just survivors, like him. But even that thought felt reckless. His gut twisted with uncertainty.
Now that they were closer, their faces were finally visible.
Three men.
Tall. Lean. Muscular.
Their expressions were cold, their eyes scanning like predators.
They didn't carry themselves like lost travelers.
Julian's grip on the gun tightened.
This wasn't a situation where words would help.
Could he shoot? Could he aim well enough to stop even one?
His hands trembled just slightly.
His legs were coiled tight, ready to move or strike, but his mind raced. He crouched low, hidden behind the jagged snow-covered rock, praying that Emma or the others would arrive in time.
Don't panic, he told himself. Just breathe. Wait.
The men crept closer to the gate.
One of them glanced around, his brow furrowed as if confused by its unguarded state. Another began searching the snow, looking for something—no, not just anything. He was searching for the batons.
The last man didn't move like the others.
He was focused.
Calm.
His eyes moved with unsettling precision, scanning the area with the patience of someone who had done this before.
Julian froze.
For a heartbeat, their eyes met.
He couldn't move.
The man looked right at him—or so it seemed.
But then his gaze drifted past, shifting focus to another patch of snow nearby.
Julian dared not breathe.
Then, just over the ridge, he saw them.
Figures moving fast—Emma, Juliet, and Ulises.
They were running, still too far to be noticed, but gaining ground quickly.
The three men hadn't spotted them yet.
Julian's fingers fumbled across the radio.
He pressed every button he could, sending out a frantic signal.
Lights blinked. A red light pulsed—confirmation the distress beacon had activated.
Through the static of the receiver, the enemy's voices broke in clearly.
"They're almost here," said the tallest one, his voice low but sharp.
"One of them has the batons—I'm sure of it. Find out who it is. Kill those we don't need, only then we will have the control and a few hostages. If we go through their gates now, we'll just get shot. But with those batons..."
He grinned.
"We show up when they least expect it."
He spoke with a confidence that didn't match his intellect, sounding more like a movie villain who conveniently reveals the whole plan before getting caught.
Julian crouched lower, listening intently.
Come on, just keep talking, he thought. Say more. Give Harris something to work with.
But the radio remained quiet.
No crackle. No response. Nothing from Emma's team.
Julian's stomach churned.
He clenched his jaw and shifted slightly to the side, hoping for a better line of sight—and that's when he saw it.
More dots.
Appearing just behind Emma's group in the far distance.
It didn't take a genius to guess what they were.
Reinforcements from the enemies team.
Julian's breath caught in his throat.
There were more of them. A second wave. And Emma's group had no idea of the ones near Julian, they were running towards the gate trying to escape the pursuit of the ones behind them.
He gripped his pistol tighter, fingers twitching slightly.
This was bad.
This was really bad.
And if anyone was going to do something about it—it was him.
The realization was sharp, sudden, and heavy. There was no backup. No last-minute rescue.
No one else knew about the ambush.
It had to be him.
Julian closed his eyes and breathed in slowly through his nose.
Long, steady breath. Then another.
Worry wouldn't save anyone. Only action would.
He peeked from behind the thick tree trunk, scanning the three men.
Each one was tucked behind cover. Experienced. Armed. But not invincible.
He studied them carefully, trying to determine who posed the biggest threat.
It was the one in the middle. The veteran.
Calm.
Focused.
Dangerous.
Julian moved low to the ground, adjusting his angle. Every movement was quiet, deliberate. He didn't want to risk spooking them before he had a clear shot.
Then, finally, he was ready.
His hands trembled slightly as he raised the pistol, but he forced them still.
He lined up the shot.
One breath in.
One out.
Then he pulled the trigger.
The sound cracked through the icy air.
The veteran dropped instantly.
Julian didn't stop.
He turned to the second man—the biggest of the group. His expression had shifted to shock, barely enough time to react before a second burst of gunfire ripped through the air.
Another body hit the snow.
Julian's heart pounded.
Only one bullet left.
He turned to the final man.
This one was already moving, ducking lower—but Julian was faster. He didn't aim for the head this time. Just the chest.
Biggest target. Highest chance of hitting him.
He left him for last for this reason.
He fired.
The third man fell with a dull thud.
For a long moment, everything went still.
Julian's arms trembled, his knees wobbling beneath him. He backed up slowly until he could lean against the tree trunk for support.
His hands shook.
Tears welled in his eyes, but he held them back.
He hadn't wanted this.
He didn't want to kill anyone.
But there hadn't been a choice.
Not today.
Not if he wanted to protect the people he cared about—Emma, Harris, Michael, Mrs. Suzi... all of them.
He looked down at the pistol in his hand, smoke still curling from the barrel.
Then he looked toward the gate.
More were approaching.
And he had no more bullets.