The dining hall atmosphere was virtually overflowing with terror in that moment.

Thelma, tears streaming down her cheeks, shook violently with her hands over her mouth as the now lifeless body of Max Abu lay near the table. Never in a lifetime would she have ever imagined that she’d witness an execution so gruesome and so brutal. Poor Mr. Abu never stood a chance with that bullet aimed straight for his head.

Whoever these captors were, and whatever their aim was, one thing was indisputable: they were cold and heartless human beings. To have the heart to slaughter an innocent journalist who barely even knew them, much less offend them in any way.

The one called Kosys lowered the phone and looked around at them as Lycipus dragged the dead body aside. One look into his eyes, and anyone could tell that he was loving this. Not a scintilla of remorse or humanity could be seen in them.

“Better start praying this Liliputian scoundrel you call a friend listens to reason,” he sneered. “It would be a shame to have to waste you all. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, get praying to whatever the fuck you believe in. You’re gonna need it.”

Thelma lifted herself slightly and looked up at him. “Please, we beg you, please, don’t do this,” she pleaded mournfully, barely able to hold her sorrow in. “We’re just innocent people, we’ve not done anything to offend you. Please-“

“You shut the fuck up, woman, or I will smash your face in!” Lycipus snarled, moving over to her with the butt of her rifle pointed at her face.

Next to her, she could feel Jacob vibrating with rage. There was nothing that ground his gears more than a person talking recklessly to her; he would blow up and give you a rollicking for the ages. Of course, in this set of circumstances, doing that would end up with a fate similar to Max Abu, so all he could do was bite his tongue.

Thelma immediately zipped her lips, trembling and looking up at Lycipus.

Eyes of sorrow and despair met with eyes of vindictive heartlessness. Nothing was going to move these captors to pity. Nothing.

“Lycipus. Dephios. Come along. Stefeus, you know what to do.”

The brief orders of Kosys were duly adhered as the two followed him, while the one who had kept watch over them remained in place.

Even as the door closed behind them, the sense of terror refused to abate. Someone had just been cruelly murdered. It was clear human life meant nothing to these hostile beings, and at that point, as much as everyone hated to admit it, their lives were now hanging by weak threads.

And only God knew if those threads would be snapped by these monsters. And when.

***

Kosys, Dephios, and Lycipus reentered the room and slumped into mismatched chairs, breathing heavily, but with smug smirks on their faces. Fidelis was seated nearby, knocked out by the constant shocks Lycipus had administered to him.

“I swear that felt so fucking good,” Dephios commented, propping up his boots on the table. “About time that greedy son of a bitch realized we’re not joking with him.”

“Absolutely!” Lycipus agreed. “The stupid bastard’s taken advantage of us for way too long. Now we have the upper hand. He better use his sense and do what’s right… well, he has no sense, actually. So those around him better tell him to do what’s right, rather.”

Kosys sniggered. “Yep. We have the upper hand. We have the power over them now. If they like, they should continue to fool. We’ll finish every single one of them in there.”

“Easy kraaa,” Lycipus concurred. “We’re not some soft cuddly fools. We’ll use terror as we ought to.”

Kosys nodded, then sighed. “Yeah. Terror’s a powerful tool, no doubt. But don’t forget, we’ve worn that fear too. Especially after Jo was arrested.”

The smirk fell from Lycipus’ face, and Dephios’ boots dropped from the table with a dull thud. The room grew quiet, the weight of Kosys’ words hanging heavy in the air.

“Jo Hanta,” Lycipus murmured, her voice tinged with deep bitterness. “The day they took him, they broke something in all of us. Fucked us up big time.”

Dephios lowered his head. “They were so evil to him. Set him up, called him all sorts of things for daring to speak the truth. Made us watch as they tore him down, piece by piece.”

Kosys also had his head down. “They made us feel small. Powerless. Like nothing we did would ever matter. And now…” His voice trailed off in sadness.

The room seemed to shift as the three fell silent, their thoughts pulling them backward in time…

Along with their friends and many other young people, the four of them had gathered on the dusty football park that seemed so much larger back then. The sun was high in the sky, shining with a ferocity well known to everyone in the small, undeveloped.

At the center of the park, in the midst of the gathering, stood Jo Hanta. A towering figure with overgrown hair and slanted eyes. A young man, barely halfway through his thirties, with a burning passion to see his motherland thrive and work for all who lived in it.

A beacon of hope against the bleakness of their world.

“My dear fellow youth, we’ve been taught our entire lives to stay in line,” Jo Hanta began, his voice steady and clear. “We’ve been taught to accept the scraps we’re given and be grateful. To always allow injustices go, because ‘God will repay them’. But let me ask you this: what good has it done us? What have those scraps they give us ever built? Has obedience alone given you schools that don’t crumble after two years, hospitals that heal our sick, or roads that don’t develop potholes in two weeks?”

The crowd murmured negatively in response.

“Listen to me, this life of pandering to our leaders and treating them like gods has to stop! Our leaders work for us. Not the other way around. You pay their salaries. You put them in office. They come and beg you for your votes. So why do they live like kings while you beg for basic dignity?”

The four friends looked at each other and nodded in agreement. They had seen it firsthand: endless lines at government offices, the dismissive shrugs from officials, the promises that never came true.

“Respect for authority is important, don’t get me wrong,” Jo Hanta continued, his tone softening. “But respect is not the same as fear. They thrive on your fear because it keeps you silent. But silence is a choice. And it’s the choice they want most from you. Demand more.”

He took a step forward, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. “Demand more!” he repeated, his voice booming with fervor. “Demand better! Hold them to account because if you don’t, who will? If you don’t, who will stand for the generations who come after you? Who will stand for the dreams that haven’t yet been dreamed?”

The crowd erupted into cheers, many of them feeling empowered by these powerful words. Many of them, including Kosys and Lycipus, felt the thrill of something new, something unstoppable—a sense of power they had never known before.

Jo Hanta’s voice softened, yet its power remained. “You are not powerless. That’s the lie they’ve told you. Your strength lies here—together. You have more in common with each other than you ever will with the ones who profit from your pain. Unity is the foundation they fear the most.”

The young people applauded enthusiastically. For too long, they had been taken for fools by their leaders, and not even realized it. This moment of awakening was so needed! They needed to do more. Expect more. Demand more.

Jo Hanta raised his fist, a simple gesture that sent a ripple through the crowd. “We can reshape this broken system. But it starts with you. It starts with us.”

The memory lingered as the room seemed to dim around them. Kosys, Dephios, and Lycipus sat in silence, the echoes of Hanta’s voice ringing in their ears.

Kosys was the first to speak, his voice heavy and choked with emotion. “They took him away from us because they knew he was right. Because they knew he could make us believe. He could make poor, hopeless young men and women believe they could have a better life.”

Lycipus stared at the table, her fingers tracing absent patterns on its surface. “They turned his name into a curse. Called him a liar and a criminal. They made us watch as they ripped him apart and killed him,” she murmured, the anger creeping back into her voice.

Dephios leaned forward, his jaw clenched. “But we haven’t forgotten. And we never will. Never.”

Kosys lifted his head, his eyes burning with a quiet fury. “Never ever. Jo Hanta showed us the truth. They thought killing him would bury it. But it didn’t. It only made it stronger.”

Lycipus looked up, an ominous smile playing on her lips. “Now it’s our turn to make them feel what they made us feel. To show them that fear isn’t ours to carry anymore.”

Kosys nodded. “We’ve lived in fear long enough while they enjoyed the power. And now… now it’s their turn to live in it.”

There’s some humanity in these terrorists after all. Looks like Jo had a huge impact on them. Not that it justifies all this, though…