The whispers came first. Light, brittle things drifting from mouth to mouth, wrapped in jokes that weren’t really jokes at all. People clung to humor the way drowning men cling to rope. A weak shield against the reality closing in around us.

  Then the memo arrived from the Mayor’s office.

  Every officer was now expected to address him as “King Robert.”

  He had declared martial law and crowned himself in the same breath.

  The laughter didn’t fade. It snapped. A clean, ugly break, like bone giving under pressure.

  I stood on barricade duty, boots planted behind rusted metal sheets and sandbags that still smelled like wet concrete and old oil. The ration line curled down the street like a dying serpent. The faces watching us from behind the fences had changed over the last three days. Hunger had stripped away softness, leaving behind something sharp and angry.

  They weren’t only starving. They were ashamed of how powerless they had become.

  Amazing how fast a city could rot from the inside.

  “Officer Stormson.”

  The quiet voice cut through the low rumble of the crowd. I turned and spotted them a little off to the side. The shopkeeper and his grandkids. Three silhouettes in the gray morning light. Otto leaning on a cane that looked older than he was. Lita pressing herself against his leg. Atlas a half-step behind, chewing the sleeve of his hoodie.

  I signaled Mikey over. He slid into my post without hesitation.

  I walked toward the little family, forcing a tired smile that I hoped still looked like something human. “Good to see you all. How are you holding up?”

  The girl beamed up at me with big brown eyes that didn’t match the decaying world around us. Before Otto could answer, she bolted forward and wrapped her arms around my waist. The force of it froze me in place. My hands hovered stupidly for a heartbeat before instinct caught up and I folded her into the hug.

  Was she this small when we saw them at the autobody shop? It felt like that had been months ago, but it had only been days. Time had started to warp in the chaos.

  “I made this for you,” she said, voice gentle but bright. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a folded paper, treating it like treasure.

  It was a child’s drawing. Two police officers drawn in thick crayon lines, standing in front of a burning city. Orange and red flames rose behind us like a sunset gone wrong.

  “What have we got here?” I crouched down, and she practically vibrated with excitement.

  “That’s you,” she said proudly. “And that’s the pretty girl officer who was with you. The city is on fire because that is when you helped us. And here…” She tapped the corner. “This is my name. Lita. L I T A.”

  She sounded each letter slowly, savoring it.

  She pointed at the second scribble. “This one is my brother, Atlas. A T L A S. He helped color but he gets shy.”

  Atlas ducked behind Otto’s leg like I’d shined a spotlight on him. One eye peeked out, curious and unsure.

  I smiled. “Thank you, Lita. And thank you, Atlas. You both did amazing.”

  The boy tucked himself tighter behind Otto, still chewing the frayed sleeve, but he watched me with an intensity that told me he was listening.

  I straightened and extended my hand to the old man. “Good to see you again. You can call me Elias.”

  Otto clasped my hand in both of his. His grip was warm and steady. Stronger than I expected. “Otto,” he said.

  I nodded toward the children. “How are you all holding up?”

  He let out a soft, tired breath. “We are managing,” he said. His eyes followed Lita as she twirled the drawing, then drifted to Atlas, who still clung to his sleeve. “They feel everything before we do. They know the world has changed. They pretend to be brave, but they know.”

  He looked back at me. Something in his expression tightened. “I am doing what I can. But that is why I came to speak with you.”

  A small warning prickled at the base of my neck. “What is it?”

  He shifted his weight and lowered his voice. “My daughter and her husband. Lita and Atlas’s parents.” His gaze flicked to the kids again. “They went to Denver for their anniversary. Four days ago. They should have been home this morning. I have not heard from them.”

  A knot formed in my stomach.

  “I’m sorry. What are their names?”

  “Darla and Owen Hemming.”

  I pulled out my notebook and wrote them down. The names felt heavy the moment they hit the page.

  “I’ll keep an eye out,” I said. “If any report, message, or anything at all comes through, I’ll let you know immediately. You have my word.”

  Relief rippled across Otto’s face. A subtle loosening of tension, like someone easing their grip on a cliff edge.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “You helped us before. And the children trust you.” His voice dropped even further. “That means something. These days, it means everything.”

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  Atlas stepped out from behind his grandfather just enough that his sleeve brushed my pant leg. He looked up at me, then quickly looked away. It was barely a gesture, but it landed hard—trust offered reluctantly, carefully, but offered.

  Something deep inside me tightened. A pull. A responsibility I had not expected but could never turn away from.

  “If you need anything,” I said softly, “any officer can find me. Just ask.”

  Otto rested a hand on my shoulder, a gesture full of quiet sincerity. “I know. That is why I came.”

  Lita waved her drawing at me with enough enthusiasm that her entire arm windmilled. Atlas followed Otto with small, shuffling steps.

  I watched them disappear back into the ration line, the crowd swallowing them slowly.

  The world felt heavier again.

  Loved ones vanished. Cities bent under fear. Monsters stalked the streets. Four days ago life had been predictable. Annoying. Rolling my eyes at paperwork felt like a memory from another world.

  Now children like Lita and Atlas were going to have to grow up in this.

  The responsibility settled onto my shoulders with familiar weight. Protect them. Protect the people who still clung to hope. Protect the small pieces of humanity scattered across a dying city.

  Darla and Owen Hemming.

  I repeated the names silently.

  If they were out there, I would find them. And if they weren’t…

  I pushed the thought away.

  I had more reasons now. More faces tied to every choice I made.

  More weight behind every swing of my sword.

  And I would bleed before anything happened to those kids.

  Mikey shifted a crate on the table and nodded toward the fading shapes of Otto and the kids. “They seem to like you,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  I shrugged, though the warmth still lingered. “They have been through enough. If I can give them a moment of normal, I will.”

  “That’s why they like you,” Mikey said with a grin. “You pretend you’re made of stone, but you are basically a golden retriever in riot gear.”

  I snorted. “Please. I am at least a German shepherd.”

  “Sure,” he teased. “A shepherd who blushes whenever Kira walks into the room.”

  I paused mid-reach for a ration slip. “I do not blush.”

  Mikey raised his eyebrows. “Man, you turn red like someone plugged you into a wall socket. I am worried one day your helmet visor is going to fog up from sheer embarrassment.”

  “Keep talking,” I muttered, “and I will assign you to night shift tent detail.”

  He laughed quietly, the sound cutting through some of the tension in the air. “Look, I am just saying… she likes you too.”

  I filled a bag with canned beans and rice and slid it across the table. “We are in the middle of a collapse, Mikey. Hardly the time.”

  “That is exactly why it matters.” He nudged me with his elbow. “People hold on to people. Especially now.”

  Mikey paused staring at the pavement “I wish I was with you at the gate. If I hadn’t been grabbed by Howard” he said the name with a scowl. “I could have been there with you. Fought by your side.”

  I looked at Mikey for a long moment imagining him at the gate. His standing shoulder to shoulder with me against the waves of monsters. Of Mikey lying with his eyes wide open, accusatory as we laid him next to the rest of the white blankets that marked the dead.

  I shook my head. “As much as I would have loved to have you next to me, I am glad you were safe.”

  “Plus” I gave him a shove “I am sure there will be lots of other monsters for you to fight” I gave him a smile which he returned, but my heart was heavy.

  There would be more monsters, there would be more death.

  A deep rumble rolled through the crowd. Someone shouted two rows back. Complaints layered over complaints, weaving into a restless drone drawing our attention.

  Mikey’s smile cooled. “You feel that shift?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Like a fuse burning.”

  He nodded grimly. “Then let us hold the line together. Golden retriever and all.”

  “German shepherd,” I repeated.

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

  Despite the tension, a small laugh escaped me. The kind that shook loose some of the dread tightening my spine.

  Because Mikey was right.

  We did hold the line together.

  And if things went sideways today, he was someone I trusted to have my back when the crowd finally snapped.

  Mikey slid a ration bag across the table when the crack tore through the street.

  A single gunshot.

  Loud.

  Close.

  Sharp enough to cut the world in half.

  The reaction was instant.

  People dropped to their knees.

  Others flinched backward so fast they crashed into the bodies behind them.

  A few sprinted in random directions, colliding with anyone in their way.

  A child screamed.

  Someone spilled their entire ration bag across the pavement in a spray of cans.

  Several adults threw their arms over their heads, crouched low, and covered their necks like they had been trained for active shooter drills.

  The barricade shook as dozens of hands slammed into it while people tried to duck behind anything solid.

  “Get down!” someone shrieked.

  “Move, move, move!”

  “Where did it come from?”

  “Oh God, oh God—”

  The line dissolved into scattered pockets of pure panic.

  “Elias,” Mikey said sharply, his body already shifting close to mine, his pistol already in front of him, his eyes scanning for targets. His eyes flicked across every rooftop. “I don’t see movement.”

  Neither did I and that terrified me.

  “Everyone stay down!” I shouted, climbing onto the sandbags so the crowd could see me. “Hold your positions! Don’t move!”

  My voice barely carried over the chaos. People scrambled behind cars, dumpsters, crates, even each other. A man shoved his wife toward a row of plastic barrels and shielded her with his body. A teenager bolted through the fence gap, only to freeze in place when he realized no one was chasing him.

  A woman clutched her infant to her chest and crawled behind the barricade without realizing she had crossed into the restricted zone. Mikey rushed to her, guiding her gently but firmly behind cover.

  Another crack echoed, this time a metallic clang as someone knocked over a shopping cart, and half the crowd screamed again, flinching hard.

  Adrenaline surged through me, sharp and cold. “Stay down,” I barked. “Look around you. Is anyone hit?.”

  Mikey checked the immediate area. “No injuries,” he confirmed quietly. “I think the shot came from further back.”

  The crowd was still trembling, shifting on hands and knees, some half-crouched and frozen, others panting with wide, unfocused eyes. Several ration bags were abandoned on the ground, their contents scattered like spilled guts.

  “Eyes up,” Mikey murmured. “This atmosphere feels like an explosion waiting for a match.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  Fear had cracked something open.

  I walked the line, palms raised. “Listen. I need everyone to breathe. Don’t get up yet, but breathe. Officers are looking for the source. You are safe where you are. Stay low and stay calm.”

  The tremors in the crowd softened, shifting from frantic motion to shuddering stillness. People crouched behind anything they could find, peeking up in shallow breaths.

  A middle-aged man crawled closer to the barricade, his voice shaking. “How long until we can move? My son is waiting at home.”

  “We will guide everyone when it is safe to do so,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

  Behind me, Mikey handed a ration bag back to a woman whose hands shook too hard to grip it. “You are alright,” he murmured. “Stay with us.”

  The fear still churned through the street like a rising tide, but the frantic, chaotic thrashing had calmed into a tense crouch, every eye scanning for danger.

  This was no longer just hunger and frustration.

  A single gunshot had shown them how fragile everything truly was.

  Mikey moved beside me, shoulder brushing mine. “This isn’t good Elias” He exhaled slowly. “Shit is about to hit the fan”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” I said. “Who is gone to check the source?”

  “Lang, Ken, Chris and David” Mikey continued scanning the crowd while I covered the roof tops.

  The crowd remained crouched, trembling, waiting.

  We ended up patrolling for a full hour for the possible shooter but came up empty, which enraged the crowd even further.

  The city had heard a single gunshot.

  And the world felt like it was holding its breath.

  ? The Myth Seekers [A litrpg fantasy adventure] ?

  by Luminous Zephyr

  Sever the strings of gods and kings.

  But no favors come free, and the more he fights for freedom, the tighter the tangle of fate becomes.

  Finally, after forming a team to take on Janek’s Tower, the adventurers set off with high hopes.

  But before even reaching their destination, the team finds they are no longer chasing adventure.

  They are living it.