As the truck rolled in, it slowly ground to a halt. The engine ticked as it cooled. A door creaked open, then slammed shut. Boots crunched against the dry soil, each step heavy in the quiet air.
A voice called out, "Hey, Chello! What've you got in the truck?"
Chello stretched his neck and replied casually, "Oh, just a group of Valyrith people. The commander said to bring them back to base."
"How was the trip? They give you any trouble?"
"Nah," Chello answered with a shrug. "Had them cuffed real good. And I passed through the desert. If anyone managed to escape, they'd be dead either way."
A low chuckle followed.
"Ahh, nice thinking, Chello. Alright, boys—let's check on our newcomers."
A rough burst of laughter broke out as they moved toward the back of the truck.
The captives shuffled toward the far end of the truck, pressing themselves away from the rear doors.
Suddenly, the tarp at the back was yanked open. A wave of cool night air rushed inside. It washed over their sweat-soaked skin, chilling them—but it did nothing to calm the heat of their fear.
Then a voice ordered everyone to come down slowly.
Kloric wondered what their choice would be.
Suddenly, footsteps pounded—and the captives began running out in different directions. Kloric stared in shock.
They actually followed the plan.
"Should we follow?" Terren asked.
"I'm not going anywhere," Kloric replied.
Terren nodded. "If you aren't going, then I'm not."
"My decision could kill us," Kloric said quietly. "Are you sure?"
Terren gave a small smile, though the fear in his eyes was obvious. "You're the older brother. Whatever you say goes."
Moments later, one of the guards laughed. "I told you they were going to run. Such spineless bastards."
"Yeah, yeah," another replied. "I owe you a beer. Alright, boys—get to it."
Boom.
A shot rang out.
Kloric could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
Boom. Boom.
Screams followed.
Then silence.
Kloric slowly looked around. Apart from him and Terren, four others had stayed behind. There had been twenty-four of them.
Now only six remained.
A voice called out, "Alright, let's clean the truck."
Footsteps approached.
"Boss… some are still inside. Not all of them ran."
"Oh? Now those ones might have some guts."
They were ordered to come down.
Everyone hesitated.
Kloric stepped out first, slowly, instinctively raising his hands in surrender. Terren followed. The other four came after.
All six of them stood outside.
And then Kloric saw the bodies.
Scattered in the dirt.
The farthest body was the speaker from earlier.
It hit Kloric then.
The escape plan was never about freedom. It was about probability.
More bodies running meant fewer bullets aimed at him.
So that's how this twisted world worked.
"On your knees," one of the men ordered.
Kloric slowly knelt, placing a hand on his head.
A man stepped forward — clearly the leader, judging by his uniform and the scar stretching across his face.
"Alright," the man said casually. "We could've used you as slaves. But your fellow people decided to run. And you know what they say—one bad apple spoils the rest."
He chuckled in a joking tone, and the other soldiers laughed with him.
But to the captives, there was nothing funny about it.
"Don't you find it funny?" The man added with a smirk, pressing the barrel of his rifle against Kloric's head.
Kloric didn't respond.
His mind raced for a solution — any solution — but nothing would matter. Not with a rifle against his skull. Not with logic like that.
"Meh," the leader shrugged. "Guess you don't like jokes."
He adjusted his grip on the weapon.
"Since you've got guts, I'll make it fair. I'll let you say your last prayer. And I promise it'll be painless. You won't even know what happened."
"Okay… let's start from left to right," the leader said. "Hey, you start your prayers. Everyone else is faster. The sooner I start, the better for you."
The first captive bowed, licking the man's boot. "Please… spare me… I'll do anything!"
The man kicked him aside. A shot tore through his stomach.
"I thought you had guts," he sneered. "How filthy."
Two more shots cracked the air.
The leader moved to the next person — a woman. Begging wouldn't save her.
Quickly, she tried to charm him. "I… I can satisfy you… and your men…"
A bullet stopped her mid-step.
All hope vanished. No reasoning. No mercy.
The rest could only whisper silent prayers, imagining their families one last time. One by one, bullets claimed them. Headshots. Cold. Final.
Then it was Terren's turn.
He turned to Kloric, tears dripping from his eyes. "You promised to keep us alive… when Mom and Dad died. Are you breaking that promise now?
Somehow, Kloric felt the stab of his pain. He didn't fully trust Terren, but in that moment, Terren felt closer than anyone else in the world.
Terren forced a shaky smile. "Mom… Dad… guess I'm coming," he said sarcastically, right before the bullet hit him.
The leader laughed. "Hmm… I kinda like the kid. He smiled with a bullet to his head. Now that's a real soldier. Too bad he was with them."
Finally… it was Kloric's turn.
Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at Terren's lifeless body. He didn't shed a single tear. Just let out a slow breath.
"Why?" he whispered. "I just woke up… and I'm about to die. Is this some kind of joke?"
Boom.
He fell back, staring at the night sky.
Everything went black.