Cries of Survival
As narrated by the event keeper
Fort Vanguard crouched on the edge of Nassau, Bahamas. Just 290 kilometers northwest sprawled Miami, Florida—a city of shimmering heat, neon-lit dreams, and growing unease. The air buzzed with rumors of an alien invasion, a threat that had slipped from hushed conspiracy theories into blaring news headlines. In a sun-bleached high school courtyard in Miami, three students—Victor, Eugene, and Jasper—stood on the precipice of a world unraveling.
Jasper paced at their center, his wiry frame taut with nervous energy. His voice cracked as he spoke, barely above a whisper. “Guys, did you hear about the aliens? They’re saying it’s real this time. Everyone’s going to be killed.”
Eugene’s eyes widened, his hands twisting the hem of his faded T-shirt. “It was on the news last night. They use some sought of mind control attack. The video of that infected guy ripping through soldiers. What are we going to do? Are we all… going to die?”
Victor stood apart, leaning against a splintered bench, his arms crossed. At sixteen, he carried himself like someone older. listening to his friends, he said nothing, but his mind raced. The world had fractured overnight—neighbors hoarding supplies, politicians dodging questions, online forums erupting with theories of betrayal and doom. His father, General Marcus Kane, had taught him to see through chaos: Fear makes people predictable. Use it. But in that moment, Victor failed to predict predict what would happen next.
Jasper stopped pacing, his sneakers scuffing the ground. He glanced over his shoulder, then leaned in closer. “Can you guys keep a secret?”
“Of course,” Eugene blurted, practically bouncing with anxiety.
Victor nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Go on.”
Jasper’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial hiss. “My uncle owns a bunker. Big one—can hold fifty people, stocked with food, water, everything. For years, if it comes to that. I counted our family; we’re only fifteen. If you swear not to tell anyone else, I’ll get him to let you come with us.”
“You’re serious?" Eugene’s face split into a grin, relief washing over him like a tide. "Jasper, you’re a legend! We won’t breathe a word—promise!”
Victor’s gaze didn’t waver. “You have fifteen family members?”
“Yes,”
“And the bunker can hold fifty?”
Jasper faltered, scratching the back of his neck. “Yes. But my uncle might bring some friends. Maybe coworkers. It’s just a rough number, okay! Why are you grilling me? This is your shot to survive—meet me at my house tomorrow morning if you’re in.”
Victor’s lips pressed into a thin line. His father’s voice echoed in his skull: Question everything. Trust is a luxury. A bunker for fifty was no casual prepping—it hinted at connections, maybe secrets. But with the world teetering, survival trumped skepticism. For now.
Eugene, oblivious to the undercurrent, tugged at Jasper’s sleeve. “Can I bring my mom? It’s just her and me—she’s all I’ve got. I can’t let her die out there.”
Jasper groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you guys! If you bring your mom, Victor’s going to want someone too.”
Eugene turned to Victor, his voice pleading. “Your dad’s a general, right? He’s got military bunkers, connections—he’ll be fine. You don’t need to bring anyone, do you?”
Victor’s jaw tightened. Eugene and Jasper were his oldest friends—tied by summers of scraped knees and late-night video games—but the years had carved a rift. They were still kids, wide-eyed and impulsive, while Victor had been molded by his father’s iron will into something harder, colder. He saw their naivety as a flaw, a childish trust in a world he’d learned to dissect. “It’s not my father,” he said evenly. “But I do have someone. Just one person.”
Jasper sighed, throwing up his hands. “Fine. One each. Four spots total—I’ll fight my uncle for it. You two owe me big time.”
They nodded, sealing the pact in the humid afternoon air. But Victor’s mind was already elsewhere, snagged on a name: Alessandra.
Victor wasn’t like his friends. Where Eugene wore his heart on his sleeve and Jasper stumbled through life with reckless optimism, Victor hid behind a mask of control. His father had raised him on discipline and dominance—Never show weakness, never bend—and Victor had obeyed, burying his softer edges deep. But Alessandra unraveled him. She was a quiet storm in their class—dark curls framing a sharp mind, her laugh a rare melody that haunted him. For years, he’d watched her from the sidelines, memorizing the way she tucked her hair behind her ear during math, the way her eyes lit up in debates. He’d never spoken to her, not really. To confess would be to surrender, to risk rejection—and that was a weakness he couldn’t afford.
Until now. The alien threat had stripped away the rules. If the end was coming, he’d claim what he’d denied himself. No more waiting.
It was 6:07 p.m. when Victor found her. The alley snaked between two decaying buildings off 12th Street, its asphalt slick with yesterday’s rain and littered with cigarette butts. The air hung heavy—damp and sour, tinged with the faint rot of overflowing dumpsters. Alessandra walked alone, her schoolbag slung over one shoulder, her steps quick as she cut through the shortcut home from debate club.
The sun had dipped below the skyline, painting the world in bruised purples and grays, and the distant wail of a siren underscored Miami’s growing unease.
Victor lingered in the shadows, his black hoodie pulled low, his pulse thudding in his ears.
He’d tracked her routine for weeks—and he knew she’d be here, vulnerable. He stepped forward, his voice rough as it broke the silence. “Alessandra.”
She whirled turning back and saw him in the dark, Her heart raced as she tried to catch her breath.
“Victor? What—what are you doing here?”
He closed the distance, his boots scuffing the wet ground. “I need to tell you something.”
Her eyes flicked to the alley’s mouth, then back to him, unease creeping into her posture.
“Can’t it wait? I have to get home—my parents are expecting me.”
She turned to leave, her sneakers splashing in a shallow puddle, but Victor moved faster. He slid in front of her, blocking her path, his broad frame filling the narrow space. The alley seemed to tighten, its walls looming like silent witnesses.
“What are you doing?” Her voice trembled, her hands clutching her bag straps.
“I said I want to talk to you.” His tone hardened. “You can’t give me one damn minute?”
She took a step back, her spine brushing the brick wall. “Victor, stop it. Let me go, or I’ll scream.”
He stared at her for a moment and then grabbed her wrist, his grip iron-tight, fueled by years of pent-up longing and a lifetime of suppressed rage. “I like you,” he revealed, the words raw and jagged. “I’ve liked you for years, damn it.”
“What? You… like me?” She yanked her arm, but his hold didn’t budge. “Let go! You’re scaring me!”
“Do you know how hard this is?” Victor kept on. “To say this? To put myself out here?”
She wrenched free and swung, her palm swinging forward and slapped his cheek. The sound ricocheted off the bricks, sharp and final.
“Leave me alone, you freak!”
The word sliced through him—'freak’—and something snapped. All his life, he’d been forged into his father’s image: the future general, the stoic hero. But he hated it—the drills, the whispers, the weight of a destiny he’d never chosen. Once, in fifth grade, he’d beaten a kid bloody for mocking his stiffness, and the shame still burned. Now, with the world crumbling, he shed the mask entirely.
“Freak?” His voice dropped low. “The world’s ending, Alessandra. I don’t have time to chase someone else. You’re coming with me—one way or another.”
Her eyes widened as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a damp cloth that reeked of chemicals. She screamed, her voice piercing the dusk, but the alley swallowed it whole. He lunged, clamping the cloth over her nose and mouth. She clawed at his arms, her nails digging into his skin, but her struggles weakened, her body slumping against him. Within seconds, she was still, a dead weight in his arms.
Victor stood there, chest heaving, the cloth slipping from his trembling hand. The alien ships might destroy everything tomorrow, but tonight, he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.