The sounds of gunfire and shouting echoed through the grand halls of the presidential palace as the Revolutes fought fiercely against the remaining guards. Smoke filled the air, and the once-opulent corridors were now littered with debris.
Abo Bilal and Abo Othman had already achieved a crucial part of their mission-they had captured the President's son, the ambassador of Yahoza, and a few diplomats but sadly the president managed to get away and several other diplomats. Abo Othman, gripping the President's son by the arm, gave orders to his men.
"Retreat! We're taking him through the tunnel!"Abo Othman shouted, dragging the struggling young man toward the staff bathrooms where the hidden passage lay. His men followed closely, weapons raised, scanning for any threats.
Meanwhile, Abo Bilal was still inside the main hall, trying to seize more hostages. His men pushed diplomats to their knees, binding their hands. Suddenly, one of his fighters, a young man named Hakim cried out as a bullet struck his leg. He collapsed against a marble pillar, blood seeping through his pants.
Abo Bilal rushed to his side, gripping his shoulder. "Hakim Hold on, I'll get you out!
Hakim shook his head, his face tight with pain but determined. "No, brother... the mission comes first. Leave me -I'll cover you!"
"I'm not leaving you behind!"abo Bilal argued, but Hakim shoved him back.
"Go! Finish this!"he managed to say.
Before abo Bilal could respond, his radio crackled. The voice of Abo Mahmoud, one of their leaders, came through urgently.
"Abo Bilal! The hacking team just located the President-he's fleeing the palace! One of our squads is chasing him, but we need to cut him off!"
Bilal clenched his jaw, glancing once more at Hakim before standing. "Understood. Who's leading the squad?"
"Zaid," Mahmoud answered. "He's on their tail now."
---
Outside the palace, the President's armored car sped through the chaos, swerving past burning vehicles. Behind it, a truck full of Revolutes pursued, led by Zaid, the famous footballer-turned-fighter. He leaned out of the window, firing his rifle at the fleeing vehicle.
"Faster! Don't let them escape!" Zaid yelled to his driver.
Bullets pinged against the President's car, but the reinforced metal held. Zaid grinned, reloading-until a sudden roar of an engine made him turn.
A black SUV slammed into their flank, gunmen inside opening fire. Zaid's eyes widened as bullets tore through their truck. One struck his shoulder, another his leg. He gasped, losing his grip-then tumbled out of the speeding vehicle, hitting the pavement hard.
The last thing he saw was the President's car disappearing into the distance as darkness swallowed him.
The dust still hung heavy in the air, bitter with the taste of gunpowder and blood. Abo bilal and Abo Othman retreated with their men towards the tunnel.
The retreat was chaotic—desperate. Every second stretched into an eternity, every breath a battle against the crushing weight of loss.
Zaid—the footballer whose laughter had once echoed through the camp, whose feet moved like lightning—now lay motionless in the street. He was gone, but his sacrifice wasn't for nothing.
Hakim, who had stood like a mountain while the others retreated . When Jameel had screamed at him to fall back, to run with them, he had only shaken his head. That stubborn, fearless smile flashed across his face for the last time.
"Saving my friends… fighting for my country—that's my win."
Then he had turned, machine gun blazing, charging forward like a man who had already made peace with death. The gunfire had swallowed his last words, but his defiance had rung louder than any explosion. He had fought—not for glory, not for vengeance—but for the future. For the ones who still had a chance to escape.
The tunnel collapsed behind them, sealing away the horrors of the battle, burying Hakim and so many others beneath the rubble. They lived. Because the fallen had fought bravely, because they opened a path for everyone else.
And as they stumbled forward into the darkness, the ghosts of the lost marched with them—whispering, demanding that they keep fighting.
For them. For everything they had died to protect.