James found the stranger hiding in the game room.
It was a standoff. The stranger grabbed Zoe, holding Henry's gun to her head.
"Don't force me!" the man screamed, trembling. "I just want to live!"
"Let her go!" James roared.
In the chaos, Mary sneaked up behind the man and smashed a vase over his head. The Sandins tackled him.
"Get the rope!" James barked.
They tied the stranger up, but he kept struggling, fighting for his life. James, desperate and terrified, grabbed a letter opener from the desk.
"Mary, hold him down!"
James plunged the blade into the stranger's existing bullet wound. The man screamed in agony and went limp from the pain.
"Dad, stop!"
Charlie stood in the doorway, tears streaming down his face. "We can't do this! We are hurting an innocent man. How are we any different from the monsters outside?"
James froze. He looked at his bloody hands. He looked at his son.
On this night, survival meant losing your soul. Was it worth it?
The Elite.
James went back to the front door. He tried one last time to negotiate through the steel shutter.
"This is a mistake," James pleaded. "My son let him in. He's just a homeless man. Do you really need to kill him?"
Outside, Joaquin Phoenix smiled sympathetically.
"You idiot!" a masked thug next to Joaquin shouted. "We are society's elite! Give us the pig!"
Bang!
Without looking, Joaquin raised his pistol and shot his own friend in the head. The thug dropped dead.
"So rude," Joaquin sighed, adjusting his blazer.
"Mr. Sandin," Joaquin said cheerfully. "I apologize. He was a friend of mine. A bank shareholder. A pillar of the community. But he had no manners."
"Our equipment is here," Joaquin continued. "We are coming in."
James slumped against the wall. There was no bargaining with insanity.
He made his choice. He wouldn't hand over the stranger. He wouldn't become a monster for them.
"Charlie," James said, kissing his son's forehead. "Take your sister to the basement. Don't come out. Dad loves you."
He cocked his shotgun. He was going to fight.
The Siege.
CRASH!
A truck ripped the steel door off its hinges. The Purgers poured into the mansion, laughing like children at a playground.
The audience in the theater watched in horror. These weren't mindless zombies. They were rich kids. They were the people who preached about charity and global warming at cocktail parties, then hunted human beings for sport.
In the VIP row, Zane nodded approval.
This version of The Purge—directed by Zack Snyder—was far sharper than the original. It wasn't just a slasher movie; it was a vicious satire of the 1%, depicting the class war in its bloodiest form.
On screen, the violence exploded.
James Sandin fought like a lion. He took down thug after thug in the hallway. But there were too many of them.
Joaquin Phoenix stepped out of the shadows.
Shkkt.
He drove a knife into James's stomach.
"I told you, Mr. Sandin," Joaquin whispered, twisting the blade. "I told you I would unleash the beast."
James fell.
The Neighbors.
Just as the Purgers prepared to finish off Mary and the kids, gunshots rang out.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The Purgers dropped dead. Joaquin looked surprised before a bullet caught him in the chest.
Mary looked up, hopeful. "Grace?"
It was the neighbors. Grace and the others stood in the doorway, holding shotguns. They had saved them!
"Oh, thank god," Mary sobbed.
Grace stepped over Joaquin's body. She wasn't smiling anymore.
"Mary, you've got it wrong," Grace said coldly.
The neighbors raised their weapons—and pointed them at the Sandins.
"You survived the Purgers? Good," Grace sneered. "Because you belong to us."
"We are the ones who paid for this house," another neighbor spat. "Why should you be rich while we struggle?"
The audience gasped.
The real villains weren't the psychopaths in masks. They were the jealous suburbanites next door. The Purgers killed for sport; the neighbors killed for envy.
Redemption.
Grace leveled her shotgun at Mary's head.
"Goodbye, Mary."
Click.
Before she could fire, a shadow moved behind her.
Crack.
Grace fell to the floor, unconscious. The stranger—the homeless man James had tried to sacrifice—stood there holding the pistol. He had escaped his bonds.
He didn't run. He stayed. He saved the family that tried to kill him.
"No more killing," the stranger said, holding the neighbors at gunpoint until the siren wailed, signaling the end of the Purge.
7:00 AM.
The sun rose over a house filled with bodies. The surviving Sandins sat in silence, their world forever changed.
The credits rolled.
The theater was dead silent for a moment, then erupted in applause. It was dark, twisted, and brilliant.
"Wow," John Lasseter breathed. "That was intense."
Zane smiled in the dark. The Purge Project was a hit.
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