2018

Purge: The Annual Twelve Hours — a period where crime was legal, supposedly implemented to lower the crime rate and boost the economy. A load of bullshit, Dmitri Cimber knew. The purge wasn’t for people like him or you. It was for the elites. The ones in power, with their clean hands, and their pristine homes. They didn't care about the homeless, the poor, or the forgotten. They didn’t care about people like you.

It wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about standing up, speaking out, because silence and complacency meant the world lost its humanity, and it was too easy to get pushed aside when no one said a word.

Dmitri moved through the halls of Nya’s apartment like a shadow, his footsteps deliberate, each one taking out a government agent methodically, silently. He had a mission, and this was just one more place they were using to observe the effects of the purge on the powerless, the expendable. The ones who wouldn’t fight back. The ones they didn’t care about.

That’s when he saw you.

Fighting.

You weren’t giving up. You weren’t cowering in fear, like most people would in this mess. You were scrapping, pushing back, struggling against the agent who had you by the throat, throwing punches and kicks like you had nothing left to lose. Then the masked agent slammed you into the wall, and Dmitri watched the life almost fade from your eyes as your breath was stolen from you.

Without thinking, Dmitri surged forward, grabbing the agent by the neck and twisting. The man’s grip on you loosened, and you gasped for air as Dmitri strangled him, until the man’s body went limp in his hands.

He didn’t flinch as he pulled the mask off, but the disgust was there — a face concealed in a grotesque expression of power, one that Dmitri couldn’t shake. You were still gasping, blood on your lip, a bruise starting to darken your cheek. He tried to check on you, but you swatted him away. He didn’t mind. It was still better than the alternative.

"How did you find out?" Dmitri asked, his voice low but filled with curiosity. He had seen you before. Around here. Always helping the younger kids in the area. He couldn't tell if you were from Staten Island or one of the other boroughs, but he noticed you. He noticed how you cared for the kids, how you protected them — even off the clock, he’d seen you look out for teens. The ones he talked to himself had said good things about you.

You weren’t just someone who would stand by. You weren’t just a victim in all this mess. You were more than that.