Ampelius decided it was time to leave, but as he turned toward the street, he found himself staring into the dark mouth of a handgun. The sight froze him in place, his breath catching, almost breathless. The gun made his body lock up by the sudden weight of fear. For a moment, the world shrank to that single barrel aimed between his eyes.

  He forced his hands slowly upward, while cursing to himself for staying too long. The gunman wore a red beanie and a black bandanna, their face barely visible in the shadow. Unlike the thugs by the fire, this one looked thrown together, he was wearing a mismatched T-shirt, sweatpants, and had a steadiness in his stance that made Ampelius worried. Are they even with that group? he wondered.

  “You just witnessed something you weren’t meant to see,” the gunman said. “The boss will want to speak with you. Move!”

  Ampelius's heart pounded even harder as the gunman gestured sharply with the weapon, forcing him to move. He swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his composure as he took a hesitant step forward. The situation had taken a dangerous turn, and he knew he had to comply. As he walked, he scanned his surroundings, searching for any possible escape routes or a way to turn the situation to his advantage.

  The gunman gave him a rough shove as they approached the fire. The flames roared louder with every step, painting the alley in an angry glow that made his shadow stretch long and thin ahead of him. His heart felt like it was trying to exit his ribs, while he fought to keep his breathing steady to slow it down, to keep from showing the panic clawing its way through his chest.

  When they reached the blaze, the gunman struck him hard across the back of the head, forcing him down onto his knees. “Look what I found!” he barked, his voice sounding triumphant. “He was hiding and watching us from that dumpster over there.”

  How did I miss him sneaking up on me? Ampelius thought as rough hands yanked his arms behind his back and bound them tight. They searched him quickly, turning up nothing but a few coins.

  “What did you do to your knuckles?" One of the thugs asked. " Are you some kind of tough guy?" Another asked. "Did you rob an old grandmother and then punch her?” The first one taunted, drawing laughter from the group.

  “Actually, I punched a mirror and shattered it. Shards from the glass cut them. The funny thing about that, it didn’t really bother me until you mentioned it. So, now it hurts like hell!” Ampelius retorted with a forced grin, struggling to keep a semblance of control.

  “Alright, stand him up,” someone ordered.

  Two of the thugs grabbed Ampelius and hauled him to his feet. The man with the revolver stepped forward, trying to appear menacing. “Care to tell me why you were watching us? We like our privacy.”

  “I wasn’t—” Ampelius started, but before he could finish, the thug struck him across the face with the butt of the gun. Pain exploded through his jaw, and he staggered, barely managing to stay upright.

  The man with the revolver rolled his neck with a slow crack, with his eyes locked onto Ampelius. “Let’s try this again,” he said. “Do you know who we are? Surely you’ve heard the name.”

  Ampelius shook his head nervously, on the verge of hyperventilating. The thug’s eyes narrowed, clearly displeased. He could feel the weight of their stares, and the fire's heat as it burned hot. The restraints' cold metal kept digging into his wrists while the situation was spiraling out of control, and he knew he had to tread carefully.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Since you apparently don’t know anything about us, I’ll let you in on a little secret. The Romans love to call us the Iron Vandals, but we call ourselves the Sons of Liberty." His tone carried a twisted pride.

  “Back then, Rome fought endless wars against the Germanic tribes. That’s where the name ‘Iron Vandals’ comes from. But don’t mistake us for just some relic of the past. We’re more than a Germanic remnant, we are Sons of Liberty. We fight to restore what was stolen: the old republic of America, a nation free from Roman chains. That’s our cause, and we’ll bleed every drop of Roman blood we have to until it’s ours again.”

  “So, what do you want with me? I had nothing to do with Rome’s wars or whatever they took from your people. I was brought to Vetera as an infant, and I don’t even know where I was born, or what my bloodline is. But I do know one thing: it isn’t Roman,” Ampelius said confidently.

  The thugs burst out laughing at his words. The one with the gun stepped closer, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he mocked, “What do we want with you? Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Well, for starters, we found you hiding behind that dumpster. It’s not like you were digging for treasure, were you? No. You saw me execute that man, right here." Jabbing the barrel toward the corpse.

  “That makes you one of two things: a spy or a witness. Both of those make you guilty. And the punishment for that is death.”

  The thug stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he smiled. “You know what we do to spies?” He let the question hang a minute, while watching Ampelius sweat. “We don’t parade them around. We don’t give them stories to tell. We break them fast and clean. Most don’t last long, unless I allow it. So if you were hoping for a quick death, maybe you'll get lucky, maybe you won't.”

  The man let out a low laugh as he straightened his posture, stepping back while letting Ampelius stew in his words. The reality finally hit him, there was a certainty that whatever came next would leave him broken, or possibly worse.

  The Vandal stepped forward, bringing the revolver level with Ampelius’ face. “My friend here likes to skin animals,” he said, casually. “He’s got plenty of practice on humans too, I might add that it's a natural talent of his. The flesh we take off gets fed the hungry dogs we lock up in cages.” He smiled. “And don't think you'll be dead while this all happens. You’ll be alive and well for all of it, at least until you die of shock, or simply cannot breathe anymore. But don’t worry, he knows how to keep you alive long enough to make it worth the bet. Maybe we’ll even wager on how long you last.”

  The overwhelming urge to urinate was hard to fight as Ampelius fought his heart from dropping too far into his chest. The fear felt like a cold wave that swept over his entire body. His breaths became short frantic gasps as he unknowingly began to hyperventilate. He was on the verge of pleading for his life when, suddenly, everyone started giggling like schoolchildren, the sound jarringly out of place in the grim setting.

  “Oh man, the look on your face was priceless. Don’t worry, it's not something normally do to civilians,” the man said, shrugging as if cruelty were an annoyance. “We’ve got business to handle, especially with this blackout. I’ve got a feeling the Romans are stirring; the military could rush the city any minute, and we’ll be top of their shitlist. Lucky for us the lights went out when they did.”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “I almost wound up in a foot chase at the station earlier, there was some idiot who barreled past me and nearly cost me my freedom. The authorities knew know my face, but they were chasing him, not me. Makes me laugh just thinking about it.”

  He leaned in, voice dropping to a mock-whisper. “Anyhow, I’ve talked enough. Consider this my courtesy.” He spun the cylinder; it clicked into place. “A goodnight bullet for your forever sleep.”

  He straightened, smiling as if offering a gift, the grin thin and satisfied as the metal glinted in the dark.

  His pupils blew wide as he stared down the revolver’s barrel. Sweat slid down his temple, soaking into his shirt, as his breath became shallow and uneven. Every second stretched into an eternity, until he swore he could hear his own heartbeat echoing. He closed his eyes, bracing for the crack of the shot, for the end of his life.

  But the bullet never came. The trigger was never pulled. After what felt like forever, Ampelius forced his eyes open, then understood why he was still alive.

  The ground shuddered beneath him. Not a shuffle. Not a footstep. The whole city groaned, as though something vast had just stirred awake.