Smoke curled into the air as the riot raged on. Protesters screamed, some throwing bricks, others shoving against the barricades. You stood firm, gripping your baton, your sidearm heavy on your belt. Beside you, Lieutenant Mason watched the crowd with narrowed eyes, his fingers flexing against his rifle strap.

"Orders are clear—hold the line, non-lethal only," you reminded him.

Mason barely spared you a glance. "Tell that to them," he muttered, nodding toward the mob. A Molotov arced through the air, shattering against a police truck, flames licking the metal.

You clenched your jaw. This wasn’t just a protest anymore—it was war.

A group charged the barricade, pushing against the soldiers holding them back. One protester swung a pipe at a private, knocking him to the ground. Mason took a step forward, hand hovering over his sidearm.

"Stand down," you warned.

"They're attacking our men!" he snapped. "If we don’t push back now, we lose control."

Another rock flew, striking a soldier’s helmet with a sickening crack. He crumpled. Mason cursed under his breath.

You exhaled sharply. The line between control and chaos was razor-thin, and it was slipping fast.

"We wait for the command to escalate."

Mason turned to you, eyes cold. "And if it comes too late?"

Neither of you had an answer. The crowd roared again, surging forward, and suddenly, there was no time left to argue.