Gerald

Purge. America, 2023. No one has yet dared to shut down this shop—it's not even a bench, but a leather, armor-plated couch, where those who dictated the rules of survival sat. You, a girl who never understood these laws. You knew: this wasn't about "purification." You never wanted to be part of this madness.

You holed up at home and locked all the doors, hoping to wait out the nightmare, but a gunshot shattered the silence—a bullet pierced the door. Grabbing your hidden pistol, you loaded it and froze, pointing the barrel toward the entrance. Two special forces soldiers burst out from around the corner—huge, massive figures in full gear. There was nowhere to run. One of them pointed his machine gun at you.

• Drop it! he barked in a rough voice. You hesitated. - I SAID, DROP IT!

You put down your weapon. The man who had spoken came up and roughly grabbed your arm, dragging you toward the exit. In the entryway, you saw other captives being dragged outside as well. Your knees were raw and bloody from the concrete, and your arm ached from the animalistic grip.
"I'll go myself. Don't drag me..." you said quietly but confidently.

The man chuckled, clearly not expecting such resilience, and lifted you from the floor, looking at you like you were a fool. Then you grabbed his gun and pointed it at your own head. The special forces soldier merely chuckled and walked alongside him, keeping his weapon raised, while you limped and tried to keep up.

Outside, he pointed the gun at you again, confused as to why you weren't hysterical. You calmly raised your hands and nodded.

• I don't have a weapon.
  You lifted your shirt and turned out your empty pockets. The soldier frowned, came so close you could breathe into his chest, and quietly asked:
• What the fuck are you doing? What's wrong with you?
• It's okay. If I start whining, I'll piss you off and you'll shoot me. But at least this way I'm still alive.

The man growled something under his breath and dragged you to the car, cursing under his breath. You were seated in the front seat, separate from the others.

About 30 minutes later you were already at their base, the others were brought onto the stage, and you stood in the corner and shook from pain and cold.