The sound of distant shouting and hurried footsteps faded little by little, but I did not let my guard down for even a second. Leaning against the cold, damp wall, I gasped for breath quietly, my heart still pounding from the narrow escape just moments ago. The water bag and supplies I had stolen felt heavy inside my backpack, a rare windfall that also marked me as a wanted intruder in the Black Fort.
From the guards' conversation and the chaos I had just stirred up, I could finally piece together a clearer picture of this place. The so-called Black Fort Storm was nothing but a cover-up for a brutal internal power struggle. The once-unified stronghold had split into at least two or three hostile factions, each controlling different parts of the fort. To avoid fighting each other outright and weaken their own strength, they had spread the rumor of a disaster, luring in wandering scavengers.
Those outsiders became their free resources—their gear taken, their water stolen, their lives discarded like trash.
I was originally just one of those unlucky fools. But now, I had seen through their lie and stolen from their camp. That made me more than a target. I was a problem that had to be erased.
After resting long enough to calm my breathing, I pushed myself off the wall and continued deeper into the fort, sticking to the shadows. The structure of the Black Fort was more complex than I had imagined. The lower floors were a maze of collapsed corridors, half-destroyed rooms, and hidden passages, most likely old storage areas and living quarters from before the disaster. The upper levels, which I could barely glimpse through broken ceilings, looked more intact and were undoubtedly where the real leaders of each faction stayed.
As I moved carefully through the ruins, I noticed more and more signs of division. Scratched symbols marked the walls here and there—some were simple crosses, others circles with slashes through them, clearly territorial marks. Some corridors were blocked by hastily built barricades, while others had fresh bullet holes, proof of recent firefights.
The fort was a ticking bomb. And I was right in the middle of it.
I kept my crowbar in my hand, my senses stretched to their limits. Every little sound—a falling pebble, the creak of twisted metal, distant murmurs—made me freeze and listen. It was not just the guards from the camp I had to avoid anymore. I could run into members of any faction at any moment, and none of them would hesitate to shoot first and ask questions later.
After turning a corner, I suddenly heard voices again, but these were different from the rough, hostile tones of the guards earlier. They were quieter, tenser, like people cornered and afraid.
I crouched behind a pile of rubble and peeked around it.
In a small, relatively intact room, three people were huddled together. They wore tattered, dirty clothes, just like me, and their weapons were no better—rusted pipes, broken knives, old tools. They were not faction members. They were scavengers like me, trapped inside the Black Fort, too scared to leave.
One of them, a woman with a scar across her cheek, was speaking in a low, urgent voice.
"The west group is getting more aggressive. They've taken three more storage rooms this week. If we don't find a way out soon, we'll either starve or get caught in the crossfire."
A thin, young man shook his head, despair clear in his voice. "There's no way out. All the exits are watched. The only people who leave this fort are the dead."
I watched them silently, a strange feeling stirring in my chest. They were just like me—victims of the fort's cruel lies, struggling to survive in a trap they had walked into blindly.
Before I could observe any longer, a loud, angry roar erupted from not far away, followed by the unmistakable bang of gunfire. The sound was close, very close.
The three trapped scavengers jumped in fright, their faces turning pale.
"They're fighting again!" the young man whispered, panic-stricken.
The firefight was growing louder, bullets smashing through walls and debris, screams of pain and anger echoing through the corridors. The two major factions of the Black Fort had clashed again.
And this time, the battle was heading straight for my location.
I tensed up, my mind racing. I could stay and risk being caught in the crossfire, or I could run and hope to find a safer hiding spot before the fight reached me.
But as I weighed my choices, I saw something that made my eyes widen.
In the chaos of the oncoming battle, no one was paying attention to a small, locked metal door at the back of the room where the three scavengers hid. A door that looked like it led to a storage room, or maybe even a hidden passage.
A door that could be my only chance to survive this war within the walls.
The gunfire grew closer, the shouts louder. The factions' war had fully erupted.
And in the middle of the storm, I had found a glimmer of hope.