General Maddah paced furiously in the dimly lit command center, his eyes locked on the grainy surveillance footage playing on repeat. The two revolutionaries had been here—right here just hours ago. Yet, despite turning the district upside down, his men had found nothing. It was as if the earth had swallowed them whole.
"This is impossible!" Maddah snarled, slamming his fist on the desk. The officers around him stiffened, exchanging uneasy glances.
"Sir," one of his lieutenants ventured cautiously, "we've swept every building, every alley. There's no sign of them. Maybe they slipped into another district.
"No!" Maddah cut him off, his voice a razor's edge. "They're here. I can feel it."
His men hesitated. The search had dragged on for hours, stretching into a second day. The people were growing restless, murmurs of discontent spreading like wildfire. Some had even dared to film the chaos, broadcasting live streams before security forces silenced them.
"General," another officer tried, "the people are getting agitated. If we keep this up—"
"Then lock down the entire district!" Maddah barked. "No one in, no one out. I don't care if we have to tear every brick from the walls—they will be found!"
The officers exchanged resigned looks but saluted sharply. "Yes, sir."
As his men dispersed to tighten the blockade, Maddah stormed out of the command center, his boots pounding against the pavement. He would search this cursed neighborhood himself, inch by inch, until those rats had nowhere left to hide.
Around him, the streets were tense, the air thick with frustration. A young man, phone in hand, muttered to a friend, "This is insane. They've turned our lives into a prison—"
Before he could finish, a soldier grabbed him by the collar, snarling, "Shut your mouth, or you'll regret it." The live feed cut to black as the phone was ripped away.
But the whispers didn't stop. And neither did General Maddah.
From the narrow gap in his curtains, sixteen-year-old Amir watched with a clenched jaw as the soldiers stormed his neighbor's house. His phone, hidden in his palm, recorded every moment—the shouts, the crashes, the heavy boots kicking open doors. His thumb hovered over the live button, but he hesitated. Posting this could mean prison. Or worse.
Outside, the pregnant woman—Mrs. Alhalawani—sat shivering on the cold pavement, her arms wrapped around herself. Her husband, Mr. Alhalwani pleaded with one of the soldiers, his voice strained.
"Please, my wife is exhausted—it's freezing out here. She needs to rest inside!"
The soldier, a burly man with a rifle slung over his shoulder, barely glanced at him. "Shut up and wait. This won't take long."
"She's pregnant!" Mr. Alhalwani voice cracked. "If she gets sick—"
"I said shut up!" The soldier shoved him hard. Mr. Alhalawni stumbled back, but before he could steady himself, two more soldiers grabbed him, twisting his arms behind his back. The metallic click of handcuffs snapped through the air.
Amir's breath hitched. His fingers tightened around the phone.
Mrs. Alhalawani cried out, struggling to stand. "Stop! He didn't do anything!"
One of the soldiers pointed at her. "Sit down, woman. Unless you want to join him."
Amir's pulse roared in his ears. He zoomed in, capturing the raw fear in Mrs. Alhalawani eyes, the way her hands trembled as she lowered herself back onto the pavement. His neighbor—a quiet, kind man who always waved at him—was now bent over, his face twisted in pain as the soldiers dragged him toward their armored truck.
A voice crackled from a radio nearby. "Any sign of the targets?"
"Negative. Just wasting time with these people,"one soldier muttered.
Amir exhaled sharply. His thumb hovered over the upload button.
If I post this… they'll come for me next. But if he didn't—who would ever know? The screen glowed in the dark room as he pressed send.
The heavy pounding on the door made the old couple freeze mid-movement. The soldier's voice barked from outside, sharp and impatient.
"Open up! We're searching —and this time, no excuses!"
The old woman clutched her husband's arm, her knuckles white. "Ya Allah, not again..."
The old man, Hajji Abo Ahmed, patted her hand gently before shuffling toward the door. His heart pounded, but his face remained calm. Just before he reached for the handle, a whisper came from behind the fridge.
"Hajji, let them in."
Hasan's face was pale but resolute as he emerged from the hidden storage room. He had barely slept in days, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but his voice was steady.
"It's okay. I moved the fridge to block the door. They won't find it unless they tear the house apart." He swallowed hard. "Just let them search. Trust in Allah."
The old woman's lips trembled. "But if they—"
"We have no choice," Hasan interrupted softly. "If they suspect anything, they'll destroy everything. This way… at least there's a chance."
Hajji Abo Ahmed exhaled slowly, then nodded. With a final glance at Hasan—he unlocked the door.
The soldier, a hulking man with a scowl, shoved past him before the door was fully open. "Took you long enough."
"We're just old, son," Hajji Abo Ahmed said, forcing a tired smile. "Our legs aren't what they used to be."
The soldier ignored him, snapping his fingers at his men. "Tear this place apart. Check every corner."
The old woman clutched her rosary as the soldiers overturned furniture, kicked through cabinets, and slammed doors open. One of them paused near the fridge, eyeing it then he just looked away and turned to search the next room.
"Waste of time," he muttered, turning away.
As the soldiers filed out, the lead one turned at the door, glaring at the old couple. "If we find out you're hiding anything… you won't live to regret it."
The door slammed shut.
The old woman collapsed into a chair, whispering prayers. Hajji.Abo Ahmed waited until the boots outside faded before rushing to the fridge.
"Are you two ok?"
"Alhamdulillah," the two revolutionists muffled voice came from behind the wall.
The old man exhaled in relief, leaning his forehead against the fridge. "Allah protected us today."
But outside, the district remained locked down. And the soldiers weren't done searching.