The room was silent, save for the ragged sound of their own breathing and the distant, fading moans of the horde. They were a sorry sight, dripping pool water onto the cracked floor, shivering in the cool air."We can't stay here," Shihab said, his voice low but firm. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a deep, bone-weary exhaustion and a simmering anger he was struggling to contain. "The noise or the smell will draw them back. We must move."He led the way, his crowbar held tight, as they slipped out of the building through a side gate. The street was eerily quiet, a testament to the diversion Shihab had created. A few blocks away, they spotted their salvation: a dusty red car parked nearby, its driver's side window smashed, likely from an old looting attempt."Check it," Shihab ordered Karam, while he kept watch, his eyes scanning the shadows.Karam peered inside. "Keys aren't in it. But the steering column is exposed, Ayham, you’re the expert. Can you hotwire it?"Ayham, stil

The "Peace Seekers" hideout hummed with a newfound resolve. Shihab’s announcement of the Al Noor Island evacuation project had ignited a flame. A large, hand-drawn map of the city was now pinned to the main wall, with safe routes sketched in red and danger zones marked in ominous black. A list of potential evacuees was being compiled, a growing scroll of names that represented a hundred futures they had sworn to protect.It was Karam and Karima, a formidable duo whose quiet understanding needed few words, who took the first high-risk mission. The plea had come through a fragile, encrypted online channel they used to reach scattered survivors. The message was from a woman named Battol. She lived with her three children on the distant outskirts, in a house that had once enjoyed a view of the hills and was now exposed on all sides. Her oldest son, Raed, was fifteen and had been born crippled. She couldn't carry him and protect her two younger daughters, Muna and Manal. Her message was a

The school bus was a hulking, sun-bleached yellow beast that Ayham had coaxed back to life with a mix of fervent prayer, mechanical skills and scavenged parts. Its engine now rumbled with a promising, if slightly asthmatic, rhythm. “Twenty children are still there, Shihab,” Ayham said, his voice tight with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. He clutched the printed map, their destination circled in red: the “Al-Amal” orphanage, nestled in a village sixty-eight kilometers north of the city. “And only one teacher is with them. She stayed when everyone else ran.”“Miss Ayah,” Shihab confirmed, his grip firm on the large steering wheel. He had seen her message, a desperate plea buried in the digital noise of a dying world. Her words were simple: "The Headmaster fled. I am alone with 20 child. They are so brave, yet they are still scared. Please, help us" It was a message he couldn’t ignore. He’d loaded the bus with what supplies they could spare, blankets, water, and a heavy machine gu

The school bus stood at the center of the compound, a freshly painted symbol of hope. The dents were hammered out, the windows replaced with sturdy metal grating, and the engine purred with a reliability that felt like a miracle. It was ready to carry its precious cargo: the thirty souls they had pledged to evacuate to Al Noor Island.Inside the hideout Shihab stood over a map, his finger tracing the route to the port.“The agreement is set,” he announced to the gathered team. Ayham, Karam, Jalal, and Jawad. “Captain Nasser will have his boat fueled and waiting. We pay him the remaining fuel and supplies upon delivery. The bus is the heart of this operation. No matter what happens, the bus mustn't stop, we'll do everything to make sure it reaches the port."Jawad, leaning against the wall with his new M4 cradled in his arms, nodded. “I’ll drive the bus. It’s the biggest target. I need you all as my shields.”“We run flank,” Karam said, pointing to the two rugged jeeps. “Jalal and I in

The city at dusk was a canvas of long, grasping shadows and eerie silence. Ayham led the way like a ghost in the ruins. He moved with an instinctual knowledge of the urban landscape, guiding Shihab through a circuitous route of broken fences, rusted drainage pipes, and abandoned routes that formed a secret city. They found their vantage point in the skeleton of a multi-story parking garage overlooking a central plaza that had once been a bustling market. Apparently it was now the heart of the gang's territory. Makeshift stalls were manned by suspicious-looking individuals. They were standing around a man who was sitting on the hood of a polished, armored truck. He had a neatly trimmed beard and wore a clean, tactical vest, looking more like a politician than a scavenger. The men around him called him Shareef."He doesn't look like a monster," Ayham whispered, peering through his binoculars."The worst ones never do," Shihab replied, his voice a low rumble. His eyes were fixed on t